


Caged in silver and iron

by Nalyra



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #FannibalS4Story, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biting, Blood, Cannibalism, Canon Compliant, Claiming Bites, Cottage at the end of the world, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, First Kiss, First Time, Healing, Hunters & Hunting, I Love You, Imprisonment, Killing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Murder Husbands, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Ravenstag, Rimming, Slow Burn, Tickling, Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyra/pseuds/Nalyra
Summary: Will threw them off the cliff, leaving their fates to chance.But chance has a funny way of being in other people hands, the decisions Chiyos this time, tired of being the little bird, deciding to be the one to clip their wings this time.





	1. Saved from the foaming mouths of hell

**Author's Note:**

> I know that a lot of people appreciated my way of posting multi-chapter-in-themselves-finished installments.  
> And I will continue these with my other series. However, this... is just different somehow, the format and pacing is different.  
> I would love to hear what you think, if this format is satisfying in itself and of course if you like the story.  
> So many times Hannibal relies on Chiyo in all the stories (as well as in mine) and ... it made me wonder.
> 
> Also the quotes are from the show for now, but will probably be from other sources as well over time.  
> And maybe, just maybe, it will work with the #FannibalS4Story event :)

*******

„I thought Will Graham was Hannibal's biggest mistake. But I have to wonder if it isn't you.“ (Bedelia)

*******

She watches from afar, her fingertips tracing the inky prints on newspapers, some tabloid, some reputable, both far ends of the spectrum falling over themselves to cover the media circus that is Hannibal Lecter trial. Immutable for a while, until even the great outrage over a cannibal in Baltimore society’s midsts reaches its peak, the years of preparation for the actual trial taking its toll, the short attention span of todays audience drawn to other atrocities.

She does not waver, keeping her taps, vigilant and careful, never far. She pays someone to hack into the FBIs database and retrieve the video testimony of Will Graham, taped at Quantico, obviously refusing to take the stand though he attends the actual court hearings, every day. Unwavering, like her.

She watches him on the flickering image, too aware eyes hidden behind glasses again, the scar on his forehead hidden behind his long curls, body hidden in too much clothes, arms often crossed in front of his lower chest. Over the smile. That which is -his- hidden away from -them-. 

He does not speak of Italy. Never reacts to questions about his personal relationship to Hannibal Lecter, his only answers pertaining his work for the FBI.  
His tone is clipped and clear, never hesitating, all the answers there if he chooses to give them, open, unflinching. Prepared. It frustrates the interrogators but they cannot charge him, all his sins already claimed by the statement Hannibal gave them, enhanced by the lies that Frederick Chilton weaves into his own statement, greedy for a moment in the spotlight, too blind to recognize the fool’s gold.

She is a bit surprised when Alana Bloom inserts herself into the picture, voluntary, money and insistence paving the way for her to take Hannibal as her charge, to grip the keys, tightly. She watches on the news as Margot comes by with their newborn, the baby the very embodiment of new hope, reporters almost hunting them when they enter the BSHCI. 

She never doubts the outcome of the trial but when it does come, it does not, as so eagerly anticipated, quench her impulse. It does not in fact set her free. She looks at herself for a long time in the mirror that night, gaze dark, the shadows in the back of the room shifting and pulling into the form of a firefly made of man and glass and snails, and she turns, settling in for another wait.

She keeps track of him from afar, watching dispassionately as he marries, the little ceremony beautiful and true, surprisingly, his smile open. She watches as Alana shakes his hand like a strangers at the reception, no doubt in her mind that she only does so to carry his scent back to -him-, the small cruelty worth a tilt of her head, noted and saved, for later.

‚Hannibal the Cannibal‘ burns bright in the flames when she is through with reading it, amused by the audacity to publish something like this about -him-, knowing he will have his revenge, sooner or later.

Her sources inform her that Jack Crawford will enlist Will Graham again before he has even left the FBI premises and her neck tingles, the pieces slotting into place again, the board moving. She meditates that night, the scent of various incenses heavy in the air and then starts to prepare, calmly, some beasts not held by conventional means.

The rather insistent red haired reporter proves that he is indeed working on the case, his gaze haunted once more, lines deeper than before. She knows that he has succumbed when he goes and visits Hannibals psychiatrist, the chrysalis breaking, darkness oozing out, her dreams filled with thorns.

She watches as the Dragon chooses fire as his element, Hannibals the earth in her mind, unmoving and shattering, her chosen element the air, the wind adapting in strength whenever needed. She traces the image of him in another newspaper for a moment, knowing his is the sea, hesitating for long time before she pulls out a book, pressing some braille numbers into the back, insensible to anyone else. She sends the book to the BSHCI, together with a letter of ‚an avid fan‘, cringing slightly when she reads the over-boarding and gushing exclamations.

She decides to keep closer then, the next phase almost there, watching from a dark car on the other side of the parking lot as the dragon enters his motel room, deliberating for a long time until she decides to let fate have her run when he steps in a while after. The dragon exits again after a while, menace oozing from him, targeted now and she raises her eyebrows, watching him move inside the room, the deal they must have struck weirdly inconsequential, the end obvious to her, now. It is a relief to see the goal so closely and so she waits, the boat hidden in a small cave, the waves battering the hull.

The camera feed from the living room is not very good and yet she feels a twitch of sympathy when -he- falls for him, frowning when he is pushed up on the knife. She cuts the feed and executes the overload program when he is thrown out, certain now that he will try to return them to his element, if they survive, both outcomes desired and accepted. She takes the boat up to the caves entrance, the terrace directly overhead and waits, calmly, checking the lines one more time.

It takes longer than she expects, both crashing into the waves in a flurry of limbs, blood and flesh and movement, thrown apart from their tight embrace by the impact but caught in her net right away and she hauls them onboard with the engine whining loudly, both of them unconscious, bleeding and tangled in the lines. She hesitates then, an impulse to return them to their watery grave running through her, so simple really, so fitting. And then it passes, her reasons not made of impulses and she cuts away the net, hauling them both in, slowly, the knife taking off their clothing as well, blood, antibiotics and nutritional transfusions prepared below deck in advance. She injects them both with the narcotics as well, watching her beasts sleep, the fishing trailer making its way north slowly on autopilot while she sews their wounds as best as she can.


	2. Be careful what you wish for

******

„Has Hannibal tried to persuade you to kill anyone that wasn't in self-defense? He will. Then it will be someone you love. And you'll think it's the only choice you have.“  
(Bedelia)

******

 

Sometimes, there is a voice. 

A gentle voice, brooking no argument, her insistence making him swallow, the pain numb but there, pinpricks of needles pushing into his flesh again and again. There is a rush of warmth and then he falls again, the room spinning, until he does not even dream anymore, does not feel the hands on his body anymore, tending to him.

***

Will tries to open his eyes, his lids heavy, the ray of sun tickling his skin crawling over him slowly. He tries to reach up to rub the sand out of his eyes but his arms are sluggish, the small twitch of his hand making him break out into sweat, his bones hurting. Well what the fuck. He grits his teeth and then tries again, his lower arm pulling at the infusion line and Will frowns, irritation stealing over his face. He belatedly realizes that he is laying on his side, naked, only a sheet covering him, his skin very sensitive, the small movements making the drag of the sheet feel almost painful. Hypersensitivity. Will swallows, his mind waking up a bit, combining the hints given. Drugs. He’s on drugs. His right hand crawls up. torturously, and then pulls the infusion needle out, gasping with effort. He then pinches the bridge of his nose, finally rubbing the grit out of his eyes, the room wavering and then finally coming into focus, his eyes teary. He closes them to gather his strength and then pushes himself up a bit, falling back almost immediately, gasping as if he has run a marathon, staring unbelieving at his arm, the muscle tone definitely lessened since the last time he was awake. He closes his eyes again and tries to calm down, cataloguing his bodily functions one by one. His face is blotchy and hot still, tongue feeling numb on one side, his shoulder radiates pain down into his chest but is movable, his left lower leg is in a cast, his left wrist handcuffed to the bed with silvery chains, his ribs hurt like a bitch and …. there is a catheter in his uthrea. Great. He inspects the parts of his body he can actually see, the yellow and green spots proof of deep bruises, maybe 4 weeks old. Well fucking shit. He squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden desperation, tears welling up, his soul reaching, reaching, his fist squeezing tightly.

The door opens and his eyes fly open, the steps pausing for a moment, probably having noticed his state. Will smiles grimly, feeling vindictive, fury temporarily masking all other feelings, whirling inside of him, fury at being deprived of the ending he chose for himself, for -him-, deprived of the reckoning he promised so long ago, deprived of the only chance he had. Deprived of the chance to tether -his- soul to his own. His only choice. 

Chiyo steps into his range of vision, carrying a tablet with a bowl of hot water and some towels, her eyes taking him in calmly, flitting over the pulled out needle, staying just out of reach. She sits down on the chair next to his bed, three feet away or half a mile, it doesn’t matter, she is unreachable for now. She regards Will calmly for long minutes and Will keeps his eyes on her, burning into her, exhausted and seething, desperation mixing into the fury.

„I would have preferred to keep you unconscious for a while longer.“

I bet. He doesn’t say it but then he doesn’t has to, his eyes conveying the meaning quite nicely, right hand curling into a claw on the pillow. She sighs, looking out into the sun for a moment.

„I have been his bird for so long I have forgotten how to fly away. I need to rediscover how to fly.“

She hesitates, returning her gaze to Will, and his heartbeat speeds up, dread spreading suddenly.

„I can only fly, if the man clipping my feathers to prevent flight is disarmed.“

Oh god. It’s a shock to Wills system and such a relief that he cannot breathe for a very long moment, tears falling without his control, limbs shivering. -He-’s alive. Will closes his eyes and then snorts, weirded out at himself for ever thinking otherwise, his finger tracing his left wrist for a moment, meditative, trying to calm his treacherous heart down, pulse drumming against his fingertips. He tries to form words but his tongue doesn’t quite work, huffing unintelligent noises out for a moment before he gives up with a sigh, raising his eyebrows after moment in defeated inquiry. She looks at him for a long moment and then takes pity on him, continuing her explanation.

„He is alive, still, yes. I will keep you both in my cage now, fit for the beasts you are, until I feel that I can finally fly again, all stories told and truth reached. Reciprocity. Is that not what you wished for as well?“

Will frowns, not quite understanding and she stands up after a moment, pulling the blinds open, temporarily blinding him, his focus coming back slowly, the bars in front of the glass dark and menacing, matter of fact, dark iron. No no no no. Not another prison. Will breathes harshly and then tries to suppress the slight panic, adrenaline destroying the last vestiges of drug induced peace. She steps back to him after a moment and then steps into his range, unconcerned. His muscles clench but she picks his arm up without much problems, her voice kind, nudging the panic up a step. 

„There will be a time when you can wake without my help, Will Graham.“

She picks up the needle and pushes it in again, the small pinprick nothing against the sudden desperation rearing up and he tries, he tries but he is way too weak still and she just pushes down his arm with one hand while the other reaches up to the infusion regulator, increasing the drip, her dark eyes keeping his furious gaze until the spinning room twirls fast enough to pull him down into the rabbit hole, the broadly grinning cat whispering with a softly taunting hiss.

„Isn’t this all we ever wanted, Will?“


	3. Rails, glinting

******

„Don't go inside, Will. You'll want to retreat, you'll want it as we want to jump from balconies, as the glint of the rails tempts us when we hear the approaching train.“ (Hannibal)

******

Sometimes, he wakes up now. Now that he knows he tries to discern why he wakes, what time it is, how much time could have possibly passed. It’s a futile endeavor though, no pattern discernible, at least at first. The pain is constant now but bearable, and at some point Will realizes that Chiyo must be weaning him off the morphine or whatever it was she used to keep him under, the thought reassuring and unnerving at the same time.

He starts to practice his muscles whenever he is awake, small movements, repetitive, knowing he must try to return some strength into them if he wants to have any chance of getting out of this bed any time soon. The stretches of awareness lengthen slowly, his tongue prickling continuously, the nerve damage finally receding, and he tries to articulate, quietly, under his breath. Do re mi fa sol la ti … and again. He remembers how his music teacher tried to get him into the school choir back then, so long ago now, insisting he just -had to- sing and Will equally forcefully insisting he really does not want to, already picked on by the older pupils due to his looks. Well, those should be truly and finally destroyed now. And the thought conversely feels freeing, leaving him wondering if he should keep his face clean shaven like Chiyo apparently does, probably in order to get at the scar better. Let them see. See the beast that has broken free of the waves, defying its destiny.

He becomes aware of a rhythm in her tending when he can finally stay awake for three hours at a time, his mind running around in circles, flitting back from the question whether he is actually happy or disappointed to be here. She always comes by during the afternoon, changing his urine bag and the intravenous feed, wiping him down with soft warm cloths, neutral and clinical, meticulously. Changing the way he lies so he won’t develop sores. The same thing happens in the mornings and it does not change when he watches her do it, no change in her expression as she moves his limbs. 

One day she enters his room with an electrical saw and he flinches away from it like hit, making her hesitate and level him with a compassionate expression on her face before it vanishes again, defused by purpose. She pushes the sheet up and then cuts the cast away, the noise of the saw grinding into the cast making Will shake and grit his teeth, memories threatening. She pulls the cast away from his leg and then checks the muscles and bone there, apparently satisfied before she steps up, her hand cold on Wills forehead, tracing the scar there slowly.

„I told you, all pain can be borne if told in a story. Tell me your story.“

He blinks against the sudden pain, needing several tries to push the words out, voice gravely and unused, still.

„You know my story. I danced with the dragon and fell with the beast.“

She tilts her head, fingers still tracing the scar before she moves lower, rubbing soothing circles into his temple, the headache receding.

„Why did you fall?“

Will laughs harshly, turning into a sob, the feeling breaking him open, the memory of Hannibal in his arms, of possibilities and chance, blood and breath, beauty and terror. Of love. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head on the pillow.

„I…“

He swallows, his eyes opening again with the epiphany, his soul reaching for the truth, right there.

„I wanted to know how it would feel, to follow the glint of the rail.“

There is a pause, her voice understanding.

„Leaving it all to chance.“

Will nods jerkily, not daring to answer.

„Did you wish to die?“

Will laughs, the sound dying in his throat, repeating the words he said to Bedelia, the words laced with irony and sarcasm.

„I did not wish for him to get caught a second time.“

He shoots her a look, anger stealing itself into his expression.

„And now we’re here, prisoners again, in a kind of suspended afterlife.“

Her eyes are fathomless deep, unblinking. He lashes out verbally, hissing.

„I want to see him.“

A blink.

„Maybe.“

He snarls at her, his soul hurting, grinding the words out.

„Why did you rescue me if you’re not letting me to him?“

She pushes his hair from his temple, fingers softly pulling his curls apart, the movement practiced and parts of Will hate that thought immensely, while the other is weirdly grateful she cared enough not to let his hair become felted. She does so for long moments, the soft scratching of her nails sending shivers down Wills spine. He closes his eyes in defeat after a few minutes, despairing that she won’t answer, her words, when they finally come, jerking him awake again immediately. 

„He asked me to.“

Will frowns, images of their fall running through his mind, flashes of a gaze as brilliant as the fires of hell, scorching his soul, the heat of lips, so close, ripped away by the ice cold wind, the trembling of chests, pushing against each other, the darkness of the see swallowing them whole, instantly. He searches her eyes, his voice breathless.

„He was awake when you pulled us out?“

She withdraws her hand, missed instantly. Too needy. Will turns his face away slightly, recognizing the first tendrils of Stockholm syndrome just fine. Her voice calls him back, obviously reluctant to part with the information.

„He called me once, from prison, on the number I had delivered to him. He informed me, pretending that I was his lawyer, that families should die together. Or live.“

‚You are family, Will.‘ The statement echoes through Wills soul, hurting everything it touches. Like before. Probably planned at that time. Already. This time however it is reverberating through him, ripping all the hidden nooks open, the wounds bleeding and raw. His eyes flit up to his left hand, still locked in the handcuff, the ring on his finger loose due to his weight loss, glinting in the low light. What about them. He swallows, forcing the words out, too good a man to ignore it.

„What about my family?“

She steps back, gathering the saw and the cast silently, her voice calm.

„They believe you dead. They could not find a body, but the water was at 4 degrees Celsius, reducing your probability of survival to a maximum of 45 minutes. However, the FBI has measured the amount of blood you both lost and has reduced your chances of survival to 10% total within the first 24 hours.“

Chicken shit. It is what Wally always used to say and it’s the closest to what Will feels in that moment, grimly furious and weirdly relieved at the same time. He works his jaw, voice flat.

„I want them taken care of. At least financially.“

Chiyo tilts her head, eyes sparkling for a moment, hesitating. Will anticipates her objections, shaking his head once.

„I don’t care how you do it. Do it.“

He turns away and watches the sun through the bars on the window, curling and uncurling his toes, ignoring the pain in his calf, the unused muscles protesting harshly. The door opens and closes, the soft smell of apple pie drifting in, ringing all his alarm bells at once.

Hannibal.


	4. Once more, with teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally gets -some- answers

******

„That crying boy doesn't cling to you anymore. What clings to you now? What clings to your teeth?“ (Hannibal)

******

 

He lies awake a long time after she leaves him there, the soft smell of the pie diluting after a while, leaving the hint of sweetness behind. It must be. His thoughts feel feverish, running around in circles, searching for the answer for the question why -he- is out already and Will is not, or how -he- is allowed out, or… He swallows, trying to calm down, telling himself it could just have been a frozen pie, warming up in the oven but somehow he knows, his soul not fooled. 

He shifts on the bed, restless suddenly, an incentive he didn’t know he needed providing the necessary energy. He pulls the infusion needle out, throwing it far out of bed, too thin to help with the handcuffs lock anyway.

He turns his head to the pillow, mouth pressing into the cloth and pulls at his thumb, the joint snapping out in an instant of flaring pain, his hand coming free slowly, the cuff on very tight, probably precisely to prevent this course of action. Some of the skin comes off on his knuckles but he doesn’t even feel it much against the dull throbbing pain, gasping when he snaps the thumb back into place, the pain receding only slowly.

He grits his teeth and then pushes up, the room spinning at the sudden movement, the dark colors of furniture and wooden walls and ceiling blending together. He pushes towards the edge of the bed and pushes his legs over, the catheter tugging and he pulls a grimace, pulling the thing out with a sneer of disgust, his hand trembling, letting it just drop, the action leaving him feel weak.

He waits until he can breathe again, his hand on the edge of the bed white-knuckled, pushing himself forward and towards the closet as soon as he feels that he can, the fact of being upright a rush, his limbs trembling, but standing, standing, finally, his left hand pressing against the closet for support.

He tries to open the door very carefully, afraid it will creak but it opens silently, an assortment of house wear in it, jogging pants and sweaters. No jeans, jackets or boots, but he finds underwear in various sizes when he pulls out a drawer, the socks woolen and scratchy but warm. He collects a few things and then stumbles over to the window and the low armchair there, slumping down into it with a sigh of relief. He looks out of the window for a moment, a winter wonderland visible for as far as his gaze reaches, a dark forest at the edge of the far fields, some kind of creek running through them, frozen over now. He looks up at the sky, blue and clear, wondering if he will be able to take a look at the stars later, to at least determine whether they are in the north or south hemisphere, though north is more likely.

Getting dressed leaves him drenched in sweat, his fingers shaking again by the time he is done, pushing his hair out of his eyes with both hands with a deep sigh.  
He eyes the door on the other side of the room warily, trying to remember whether she ever turned the lock when she came in or not, the memories fuzzy at best. He frowns and then pushes himself up with both hands on his knees, feeling slightly better again when he stands, the prospect of autonomy invigorating.

This time the small steps work much better and Will pads over to the door, his socked feet making almost no sound, the wooden floor covered with carpets. He hesitates before he turns the knob, the door swinging open without any sound, a draft of classical music drifting up, almost inaudible.

He inhales slowly, catching the remnants of the smell of before, his stomach growling, making him freeze on the spot. He chances a look down the corridor when nothing happens, the small hallway dark and quiet, three other rooms opening from it, two bedroom doors open, the stairs apparently at the far end around the corner. 

He steps over and carefully looks in, the first one empty and cleaned up, though most certainly lived in, incense and books carefully laid out on the table. Chiyos then. He shuffles over to the other room, a full fledged hospital bed and trauma equipment making him pause, evidence of a wheelchair being pushed around visible in the impressions on the carpet. Will pulls a face of disgust, unease settling in his gut. He passes by the bathroom, his bladder thankfully still empty, feeling decidedly unenthusiastic to pee anytime soon, still remembering the burning sensation the last time that the catheter was removed after a long unconsciousness.

He absentmindedly traces the smile at the thought, that hospital stay feeling like a dream, ghosts and nightmares merging with the visits then, his soul waiting for the ravenstag, painfully absent.

He turns the corner and pauses, a stair lift coming into view, obviously lowered now. Will hesitates, a dull pain settling into his stomach, refusing to connect the dots but he forces himself to go down, one step at a time, his hand gripping the handrail tightly. The music grows louder slowly, still low in volume, mixing now with small noises from the kitchen, pans and pots being moved around and Will swallows, hesitating for a long time at the bottom of the stairs.  
He forces himself to step to the front door, surprised when he finds it open, only moving the door a bit, the ice cold wind entering through the gap enough reason not to try for the outside. He looks around the hallway, frowning, no letters laying around to find out their address. Will sighs through his nose and then squares his shoulders, the right one still smarting when he moves it too sudden, ribs still throbbing for a moment when he inhales deeply. 

He pushes the kitchen door open, stepping in quickly, stopping again right away when he perceives the scene, his mouth dropping open. Chiyo continues to stir in one of the pots, careful and deliberate, her voice ringing clear in the big open kitchen, modern in design.

„And so your predictions came true, Hannibal. Your Nakama returns to you, drawn in by the smell of american apple pie.“

Will closes his mouth with an audible click, his eyes flitting over to Hannibal, staggering at the sight, his hand clenching on the kitchen counter. Hannibal is in a reclinable wheelchair, almost flat on his back, covered in blankets and attached to an IV line, his skin gray and sunken, eyes huge in his haggard face. Will locks eyes with him, terrified, reaching with one hand and suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore, warmth and need mixing in the gaze, the fire in Hannibals eyes still undimmed, his voice unchanged though brittle, sending shivers down Wills spine.

„Will.“

He staggers over then, drawn in like a moth to a flame, falling to his knees in front of Hannibal, his head coming down on his blanket covered thigh with a sigh, eyes closing. He feels Hannibals hand come up and cover his head, fingers threading softly, and Will wonders if Hannibal has instructed Chiyo to do this in his stead, the thought there and lost again when Hannibals nails scrape gently.  
He licks his lips, knowing he won’t need to explain, won’t need to apologize. Not with him. Not anymore. And yet. He turns his head until he can lock their gazes again, needing to address what has been done, needing to atone, in a way, the words rushing out, unplanned.

„I meant to wake with you or not at all.“

It’s not what he wanted to say and it panics him for a moment, wanting Hannibal suddenly to yell at him, to not be so stupidly understanding suddenly, and … forgiving. But Hannibal just smirks at him, quietly, fingers keeping up their motion, softly quoting, his tone vaguely amused.

„‚Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more‘“

Will closes his eyes for a moment, burning like blue fire when he opens them again, a wild determination flickering, dangerous in intent, the words a promise.

„Once more with teeth.“

Hannibal smiles at him then, a true smile, his teeth flashing, sharp and beautiful and vicious, proud.

„Our fangs tearing at life’s flesh, ours to devour.“

Will swallows, licking his lips, ravenous suddenly.

„Yes.“


	5. Fringed at the seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apple pies and truths

******

„Symptoms are going to get a lot worse. (Sutcliffe)  
I know. It’s unfortunate for Will. (Hannibal)“

******

 

Will eats three slices of the pie that Chiyo has baked as per Hannibals instructions, sitting at the little table alone, the taste coming close to the firmly buried childhood memories, of soft hands and warm words, gone so long now. He pushes the half formed thought away harshly, feeling Hannibals gaze on him, always on him, now. It’s a leaden weight and yet freeing, exhilarating in power, his soul drinking it in, returning it whenever he can, the beast in them both sated at the attention. For now. 

He deliberates for a long moment whether he should ask for a fourth and then shakes his head in negation at her inquiring look, wondering if he can push for a coffee, his eye falling on the clock on the wall, the time 3pm apparently. He looks outside, his mind working, comparing the suns position to what he knows, coming to the solution rather quickly. He purses his lips and shoots a look at Hannibal before addressing her, Hannibals gaze open and calm, obviously waiting for whatever he might do. Well, not that Hannibal could do much else, right now.

„I see you brought us to Canada… Where are we?“

She inclines her head a fraction, sipping at her tea, words deliberate and easy.

„In an old hunters cabin of an acquaintance of Robertas Lecter. The owner is recently deceased without any heirs and so our stay here will go undetected for as long as we … require.“

Will clenches his jaw, the muscles working for a long moment, his initial reaction pure fury, mixed with betrayal, unsure of why he actually expected her to behave otherwise.

„For as long as -we- require?“

She raises her eyes to his, her gaze liquid and deep, fathomless black.

„My goal cannot be reached alone.“

Will pulls a face, utterly ignoring the way Hannibal shifts behind him now.

„Your goal… obviously included keeping us under your control. And yet…“

He leans forward, his voice softening, a dangerous note edging in.

„And yet the front door is unlocked.“

Chiyo nods once, her eyes fixed unflinchingly on his.

„If you are well enough, you are welcome to leave this house if you wish.“

Will frowns, unsettled suddenly, this going way too easily. He looks away for a moment, indicating the windows with a wave of his hand.

„Why? And why did you put bars then in front of the window everywhere if we can just leave?“

Hannibal chimes in, voice deep, and almost growling, some kind of dangerous note attached to it.

„The bars are not to keep us in, but to keep something else out.“

Will turns to Hannibal, still frowning deeply, inquiring silently. Chiyo pushes herself up and pours another cup of tea, walking over silently and putting it in front of Will carefully, her voice melodic and just the slightest bit of smug.

„Have you not heard the scratching in the dark sometimes, Will Graham? I have caged you… within a cage. We are in the middle of the Khutzeymateen Grizzly Bear Sanctuary.“

Wills mouth drops open, his mind in overdrive, tone disbelieving.

„Didn’t you just say this was a hunting cabin? How can it be in a sanctuary?“

She turns away, her tone just a bit condescending suddenly, though targeted at someone else.

„Some people cannot bear the thought of purity and will therefore try to corrupt it. And money can buy many things.“

Will narrows his eyes, gaze flicking over to Hannibal who just watches them quietly, content to witness their interaction apparently, or maybe just conserving strength. Will swallows, making a mental note to find out exactly how much Hannibal is hurt, stopped at a sudden thought, answering her explanation in a rush, more statement than question.

„Which is -very- rude and therefore you killed him.“

She just inclines her head and Will huffs a dry laugh, utterly unsurprised, not even wondering at himself. 

„So… why did you cuff me to the bed, then?“

She smiles at him then, a small smile, there and gone again, changing her whole face.

„I did not wish to be caught in a flare of fury. And I did not know how you would react to the drugs. Nor…“

She hesitates, looking over to Hannibal for a long moment.

„Nor if Hannibal would survive. I was afraid of you killing me if I would have to tell you of his death.“

Will blinks for a few times, almost frozen to the spot, ice cold dread and fury mixing in his stomach at the thought alone, the feeling so strong it is taking his breath, vision tunneling in slightly. He forces himself to breathe, his smile painful, more a grimace than anything else, tone raw.

„A wise decision, probably.“

He swallows, folding his hands on the table carefully, trying not to clench them.

„What is it that you want with us now? Just to cage us?“ 

He licks his lips, his tone imploring now.

„You said you wanted to regain your flight, take control of the man who clipped your wings.“

She is silent, looking out of the window calmly, giving him time to come to the conclusion on his own, clicking into place effortlessly.

„Your looking to facilitate your becoming.“

She raises her chin, hesitating for long moments, her voice almost inaudible when she speaks, dreamily and yet clear.

„For a long time, my development was arrested. I was sent to Lady Murasaki when I was very young, younger even than Hannibal when he returned to us from the orphanage. I acquired skills and wisdom, and knowledge of beasts. And yet… the way of the world was closed to me. And it stayed closed when Hannibal left his prisoner with me.“

A shiver runs down Wills spine, some part of himself hurting for her, for the chances she forfeited, voluntarily, in a bid for duty and loyalty. He closes his eyes, deliberately making his tone soft and warm, fingers clenched after all.

„And how can -we- help you there, Chiyo? With the ways of the world and the chances you lost?“

She turns to him, a small smile tugging at her lips, resplendent in her conviction.

„I do not know. Not yet. But you will. All will come with time.“

Will swallows and then snorts, feeling a bit unhinged, the pieces of his patience fringing at the seams.

„As long as it takes, huh?“

The smile widens, the answer instantaneous.

„Yes.“

Will waves at the window, his voice incredulous.

„I could just leave and go and get a park ranger. And at some point I bet someone comes by to deliver food, too.“

Chiyo tilts her head, eyes calm, her face passive again, mirroring her voice.

„You could. But -he- cannot.“

Another punch into his stomach, direct and vicious, robbing him of breath. His fingers clench harshly, looking over at Hannibal, knowing she is right, knowing he won’t, knowing he… cannot. He swallows harshly, addressing her but locking his eyes with Hannibals red ones, unwavering on his.

„How bad is it?“

Chiyo turns towards him fully and opens her mouth to answer, but Hannibal beats her to it, his voice calm and deep, almost unemotional.

„As you know the Dragon shot me. The bullet went in to the right of my spinal cord, some of the second hand damage caused by the tear inflicting bruising damage. It went out through my liver, almost ripping it apart. Chiyo had to remove the damaged part and it is currently in the process of regeneration. There were concussions and bruises from the fight but of course these have healed now. However, since I hit the water first, several of my ribs and my left shoulder broke. And the gun shot wound got infected. I believe it may have been quite close.“

Will swallows, nodding to himself, fingers white-knuckled, trying to breathe through the sudden panic.

„Why are you up before me?“

Hannibal smiles almost humorlessly, his teeth flashing for a moment.

„Chiyo needed my expertise as to how to treat my wounds. And she needed my decision.“

Will blinks, feeling decidedly light headed suddenly. His voice is a raw whisper, the words forced out.

„What decision.“

Hannibal smiles at him, softly, his voice dry.

„She needed to relieve some of the pressure to the intervertebral discs in my spine. She needed to know if I would object.“

Will knows, frantic suddenly, needing to ask anyway.

„Object to what?“

Hannibals eyes flash once, betraying the mask of calm he is wearing, the fire just below the surface threatening to spill free.

„Her treatment. There may be a chance the swelling does not recede. If that happens, I will not walk again.“

Will gasps, his clenched hands flying up to cover his mouth, understanding everything suddenly, his voice shaking when he voices the final piece of the puzzle.

„Which is why I was kept sedated for so long. She had her hands full with treating you.“

Chiyo inclines her head, tone soft.

„It was more fitting to keep you dreaming.“

Will closes his eyes, a tear trailing down his cheek, glinting silvery in the low afternoon sun.


	6. Abyssal nightmares, beckoning and raw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wills subconscious forces a resolution

******

„Funny how we revere and romanticize a simple pump. Merely a muscle. Yet such a potent symbol of life and the things that make us human, good and bad. Love and ache.“ (Hannibal)

******

The ground shakes as the Ravenstag drags it’s hooves across the frozen ground, his hind legs stiff and shaking, the beasts fur and feathers matted and torn out, dark skin oozing deep red blood. 

Will kneels in the middle of a clearing, naked, dark trees framing him in silent contemplation, the moon bathing everything in cold light. There is an altar there, of hopes long gone, the dark obsidian stone slabs pushed against each other to lift the promised ‚thing‘ up, shining like a beacon, unreachable. His hands clench on the blank slates, more than mans height and smooth, not steps or edges to help him up, the thing needed beyond anything he wants, calling to him, calling an Will claws at the stone, his fingernails and skin tearing, blood making the slates slippery. He snarls at the stone and pushes himself up to push, only to fall back down to his knees, shaking in exertion. He screams at the thing up there, willing it to crash down, to bend to his will. His blood drops to the ground, small red drops freezing in the snow, painting his skin. 

He gets frantic now, following the moons path with his eyes, knowing he has to reach the thing before the sun rises, shaking with adrenaline, screaming into the freezing night, filled with things with claws and teeth, attracted by his blood and screams, growling in the dark. He grits his teeth, muscles locking, refusing to leave, knowing he has to now but despairing nonetheless, resigning himself to be torn apart by the beasts before he can claim it, refusing to leave and go for safety, tears of fury falling.

There is a shudder in the air around him and then the big beasts snout pushes into his sweaty hair, freezing air puffing into his neck before it lowers it’s head, snout dragging down Wills sweaty back, withdrawing when it reaches his tailbone, the absence staggering. Will pushes himself up to turn, furious suddenly to be left alone by it as well, suddenly impaled on the beasts horns, the pain leaving him senseless and yet weirdly elated, the wounds sealing itself around the horns immediately, leaving them both connected, the beasts head lowered behind him. 

Will groans deeply when the horns shudder with a minute movement within his body, shivers spreading everywhere, hands coming up to caress the protruding tips gently, feeling the caress run into his own body, igniting his nerves. He gasps, the feeling merging into need suddenly, pain and low grade arousal running through him, fusing slowly. The beast behind him puffs a low sound, signaling it’s agreement and Will lets his head fall back, two horns cradling it, a small shift of the stag making him moan deeply. He opens his eyes to the night and then the beast shifts again, its penetration shifting with it, and Will throws his arms up, holding fast to the horns behind his head, fully aroused suddenly, body alight in agonized pleasure. 

The ravenstag raises his head, gently lifting Will, the small movement forcing the tips deeper, making Will utter a low scream, oozing precome, the smile on his stomach framed on both ends by the protruding horns, his skin streaked in red. The stag takes a step forward and then another and Will gasps, moaning constantly now, limbs shaking. He grits his teeth and refocuses his eyes when the stag raises him even more, the pleasure almost painful now, the edges of his vision drawing in, panting now. He looks up and sees the thing so near now, suspended as he is on the beasts antlers, pushed up into the air ever more with every second.

Will lets go of the horns with one hand, pushing it out, hesitating before touching the thing, shining so brightly, promising everything. The ravenstag rumbles behind him, pleased and then nods, the small movements jostling Will in a repetitive motion, echoing so perfectly and Will rears up and screams, painting his own body in white. 

His hand closes on the thing before he falls back, the ravenstag throws its head up, the jarring movement ripping Will apart, the beast in him escaping his human parts, reassembling before touching the ground like a wraith, shadowy, holding the thing in his dark fingers. He cups the thing in both hands, the ravenstags dark eyes watching and then presses it to his chest, the thing entering his heart, finally accepted. 

The ravenstag steps forward and presses his snout to Wills heart for a moment, its fur and feathers regenerating, the hind legs healing, standing proudly after a few moments before turning and stepping back to stand next to Will, watching silently as the beasts cower in the shadows, knowing it's too late.

Will turns and walks away, his bloody wings dragging on the ground, his body made of moonlight and whips of smoke and shadow, vision blue fire matching the flames he walks towards to, blackish red calling to him. 

The ravenstag kicks the altar down and then follows, dark and intent, protecting.  
Will smiles at it, beautifully and true, kind and wistful, his teeth dropping with tar.

******

He wakes with a shout, drenched in sweat and semen, shaking and staggering to the closet to retrieve new clothes, taking them to bathroom, trying to keep quiet but knowing Hannibal will probably hear him. And smell him.  
He sinks down on the floor next to the toilet when he has locked the door behind him, trying to still his frantic heart, his panted breaths. Well fuck. He swallows harshly, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes for a long moment, until he can actually think again, his body still thrumming in post-orgasmic bliss, remnants of aftershocks still running through him. He drops his hands and closes his eyes, pushing his hands against the cold tiles, breathing deeply until he feels like he can control his reactions again. He opens his eyes, staring unseeing at the opposite wall, the small glass shower reflecting the light broken into its colors. 

He pushes himself up finally and undresses, the shower long and invigorating, staying in long after the warm water runs out, needing the purification, the cleansing. He gets out and dresses again, leaving the soiled clothes in the washing basket unabashedly, looking at himself for a long moment in the mirror before he smiles, knowing. Accepting. Will pads over to Hannibals room and enters it without knocking, watching him sleep for a long time, looking so harmless and forlorn in the huge hospital bed, the wheelchair off to one side. He sighs and then slides into bed to Hannibal, feeling the breathing hitch and the small involuntary movement as his hands push over his stomach gently, holding carefully. He settles in, spooning behind Hannibal, pushing his nose into Hannibals hair, voice low, peaceful, finally.

„Sleep, Hannibal. Tomorrow.“

There is a huff of amusement and then a hand settles on his own on Hannibals stomach and Will sighs, falling down into dreamless sleep.


	7. Tendrils of emotions, reaching, carefully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kiss etc :)

******

„Did you know? Some part of you? At some level... you knew.“ (Will Graham)

******

„A penny for your dreams…“

Will inhales deeply and then stretches a bit in the warmth, the furnace of another body so near intoxicating. He keeps his eyes closed and burrows into it further, refusing to think about it too much, the soft chuckle following his motion doing nothing to deter this decision. He hums and then pushes his nose along skin, the hair so close tickling his own, so close to the smell of what was irresistible on the cliff, a felt lifetime ago. Only blood missing. The thought makes him shift, his hand on the wound bindings clenching for a moment, still gently but drawing an inhale nonetheless and his eyes fly open, drawing back a bit immediately.

„Sorry.“

Hannibals hand shoots up, catching Wills hand and then puts it down on the same spot as before, gently, his hand a hot furnace on Wills skin. Will licks his lips and then raises his gaze to Hannibals, watching the pupils dilate, elation running through him. Hannibal blinks once, slowly, tone wondering.

„Beautiful boy, what has brought you to my bed tonight?“

Will blushes furiously, his ears and cheeks burning immediately, throat working. He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even and failing miserably.

„Another step in my becoming, I guess.“

Hannibals eyes narrow, sparkling in the early morning light, his voice bordering on breathless.

„Will you tell me?“

Will shakes his head, but raises his eyebrows, throat working for a moment before he whispers, deeming it only fair after he just slipped into bed with Hannibal after all. 

„I… the ravenstag helped me acquire something I very much wanted… it was… orgasmic.“

He stops, his ears flaming now, feeling Hannibals amusement keenly, weirdly sure not to be ridiculed, not here. Not in bed. He swallows, grinning a bit self deprecatingly. Hannibal smiles gently, voice carrying a wondrous note.

„The ravenstag?“

Wills mouth drops open, his mind racing through all the conversations they had, stunned at the realization that Hannibal does not know. He frowns, voice haltingly, raw.

„It… is the beast that you created when you killed Cassie Boyle, mounted on a stags head, flocked by ravens, coming together as a… feathered stag, black as tar, representing my relationship to… the ripper.“

Will hesitates, burrowing into the crook of Hannibals neck again, unable to hold his gaze.

„It died when you put your mark on me, bleeding out in the kitchen, only to be resurrected when you left your broken heart for me…“

Will licks his lips, overcome by the impulse to lick at the skin so close but he refrains, needing it out.

„It kept me going when Chiyo pushed me off the train.“

Will closes his eyes, whispering, the truth painful.

„I never saw it again after the … after Muskrat Farm. I only ever saw the Wendigo after that, staring back at me in mirrors.“

There is a long silence and then Hannibal shifts slightly, torturously, letting Wills hand go to trace the scar on his forehead, expression a weird cross between pride and regret, conveying it all with the small motion. Hannibal sighs through his nose quietly, jaw working for a moment before he inquires gently, still tracing the scar.

„And how did … our beast help you reach an orgasmic resolution?“

Will scrunches his eyes shut, trying to redirect the blood flow by sheer force of will, his ears hot, stomach fluttering. He licks his lips and then clears his throat, the soft caress of Hannibals finger not helping, making him short breathed.

„Ahhh, I… I tried to get at something, desperately, and I was… hunted and the ravenstag came and impaled me, lifting me up so I could reach it and I came when I touched it, flying apart and …“

Will stops, swallowing harshly, forcing the rest out in a harsh whisper.

„I reassembled as a wraith with bloody wings, free, floating above the ground, untouchable by the beasts hunting me. The ravenstag followed me, after.“

He trails off, knowing Hannibal will be able to interpret just fine, his own deductions of his subconscious obviously quite succinct as well. Given the situation he forced during the night. He blinks, somewhat unsettled that the finger on his forehead isn’t moving anymore and then Hannibal withdraws it, and heaves himself up, more or less crashing onto Will with his whole body weight, fully settling on Will, his legs somewhat uncoordinated and slightly off to the side. Will gasps in surprise and hisses in annoyance when he feels the wet spot where the wound padding of Hannibals stomach wound presses into his own, but Hannibal ignores it, arms holding him up just inches from Wills face. Will swallows and then raises his eyes, his hands coming up to carefully settle on Hannibals hips, feeling light headed, drowning in black red. 

Hannibal tilts his head slightly, his expression wounded, one hand coming up to cup Wills jaw slightly, his thumb traveling up slowly, oh so slowly, tingling along Wills skin until he can press down on Wills lower lip, and Will follows the pressure after a moment, breathing harshly now, their chests pressing together. 

Hannibal opens Wills mouth almost fully and Will moans a broken moan, getting embarrassingly fast with the program, aching, feels Hannibals echoing excitement press into his thigh. Hannibal bends down as if in trance, his own mouth opening as well and he hovers above Wills lips, passing panted breaths, his own just a bit more measured, heat of their lips felt but untouching, held in place by the thumb down on Wills chin now. 

It is the most erotic non kiss Will has ever received and he starts to shake with the strain of not closing the gap, the tension beyond good, a transfer of breath and life force, stronger than anything he shared before. Hannibal turns a bit and slots his lips so his lower is between Wills open ones and his mouth encloses Wills upper lip a bit, still not touching, and Will squeezes his eyes shut, groaning now, so hard it hurts. 

Hannibal moans deeply, appreciatively, and then he turns his head again so their mouths seal perfectly, albeit still not quite touching, the almost drag sending tingles down Wills spine. Hannibals other hand travels up slowly, careful not to jostle them both and then scratches lightly across Wills scalp, his fingers clenching in his curls, flexing, gripping harder by the second. There is another sound in Wills throat that wants to break free, his hands sweaty and shaking now, leaking precome. Hannibals hand on his jaw locks and Will mewls, Hannibal descending onto the sound like a starving man, devouring Wills mouth. Because that is what this is, Will realizes dimly, devouring, his head held in place, made to receive the pleasure. He falls into the feeling of wet heat claiming him, Hannibals tongue going deep, stroking everywhere, robbing his breath. Will tries to return the kiss but cannot turn and then he doesn’t care, the elusive taste of them both mixing an intoxicating flavor. 

He only becomes aware that he is moving his hips restlessly when Hannibal groans into his mouth and starts to suck on his tongue, emulating perfectly, the teeth biting down at some point just too much and Will screams into Hannibals mouth, his body shaking with ecstasy, dimly aware of another wet spot against his thigh.

Will breathes heavily through the aftershocks, mouth half open and feeling… wet and swollen. Ravaged. He licks his lips, bitten raw, unsure when that happened, his focus of the last few minutes skewed. He licks them again, tasting the slight coppery tang, his eyes flitting back and forth between Hannibals eyes, so black that he cannot see the red anymore. He swallows and then raises his hands, gripping Hannibals head tightly and forces him down, biting into Hannibals mouth harshly, ignoring the pressure and pull of Hannibals hands. He forcibly opens Hannibals mouth with his teeth and tongue, half expecting to be bitten but there is only deep wet heat there, sending tendrils of resurgent excitement through his veins, Hannibals hands gentling slightly, before the kiss turns into a real kiss suddenly, wild and deep but with true reciprocity, the air heavy between them. 

The kiss gentles after a while, and Hannibal settles next to Will, still kissing him softly, lips gliding, the fingers on his jaw still holding, as if afraid that Will would bolt if Hannibal let go. Will smiles into the kiss at some point, utterly reluctant to take care of both their drying messes, content to just lie there, kissing. He closes his eyes agains the sun streaming in, the only thing important the feeling of soft lips, hiding sharp teeth, that cannot let go of him, now. 

He falls back asleep with the feeling of soft strands between his fingers, and warm skin on his own, tugging lips gliding, nips just on this side of vicious, cradled into his beasts arms.


	8. Roots, burrowing deep

******

„My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will.“ (Hannibal)

******

 

Will wakes again when his stomach rumbles, instinctually turning towards the heat once more, consciousness returning slowly to the realization of small, repetitive motions, Hannibals hand tracing along his smile gently, back and forth. He hums, eyes opening slowly, watching the intense concentration on Hannibals face until his stomach rumbles again and Will laughs softly, feeling suspiciously happy. Hannibal smirks at him and then proceeds to kiss him senseless, ignoring his playful protests, eating his sounds. Will wrenches him away from his mouth by sheer force after long minutes, gasping for breath, something way too close to a giggle escaping him, echoed by a small huff of laughter from Hannibal, his voice rumbling low between them. 

„Chiyo is not very amused by our activities, but I cannot find fault in them.“

Will frowns, chancing a look at the door, lightly clicking his tongue.

„When was she in?“

Hannibal grins sharply, eyes sparkling.

„A short while ago. She went to clean out your room.“

Will raises his eyebrows, blinking, somewhat stupefied and irritated.

„Ok….“

He clears his throat, sighing through his nose, lightly shaking his head on the pillow.

„This seems so atypical for us…“

„This?“

Will huffs a laugh and gesticulates at the room, smirking wryly.

„This… waking up together, making out without… without much thinking about it, as if… as if there was nothing between us.“

Hannibal considers him for a long moment, lips slightly pursed, and Will watches him, remembering how they felt on his own.

„There is everything between us, Will. All the viciousness and the pain, the courtship and denial, blood and breath, desire and instinct, our history fusing us together, now, in a rebirth you forced.“

Will swallows and closes his eyes for a moment, his voice a whisper.

„I meant what I said.“

Hannibal smirks at him, eyes sparkling, reaching up to trace the scar on his cheek.

„I know.“

Will draws his brows together, knowing but has to ask anyway, here in this moment.

„Why are you not mad at me?“

Hannibal smiles fully at that, teeth flashing, the corners of his eyes crinkling, making him appear years younger suddenly.

„I always knew your becoming would be a bloody one, Will. And Chiyo and I both know yours is the sea… It had to play a part in your becoming.“

Will exhales a shuddering breath, unsurprised and yet somewhat unsettled, his grin lopsided.

„That’s why you didn’t fight to keep your balance when I tipped us over…“

Hannibal nods once, leaning near to breathe the words against Wills lips.

„I wanted to hit the water first.“

He kisses Will and the kisses suppresses the words that Will wants to speak, mixing with the tears that refuse to stay. He opts to hit Hannibal in the shoulder instead, hard, once, before returning the kiss, rolling them slightly so he is on top.

The sound of her clearing her throat has him scrambling away from Hannibal as if hit, flopping down onto the bed in a bewildered huff at his own reaction.  
He shakes his head, his voice a bit gruff.

„Sorry, you startled me, didn’t hear you come in.“

She is unrepentant, lightly crossing over to them, her eyes dark when she sees the red smear on Hannibals wound dressing.

„If you are well enough to engage in intimate relations, I deem you well enough to care for him. I will show you.“

Will gapes at her for a moment and then looks at Hannibal who just shrugs nonchalantly, obviously quite pleased at the prospect of Will caring for him. Will harrumphs and then pushes himself up, until he can sit crosslegged next to Hannibal, the bed just about big enough to do so, his muscles still protesting but weirdly relaxed. He rolls his shoulders and grimaces at the sudden pain, feeling her gaze on him, lingering at the dried spot on his clothes, defiantly watching her until she looks away.

„I heard you’re clearing out my room?“

She tilts her head, regarding him coolly.

„Is it not your intention to sleep with him, now? You are Koibito now, are you not?“

Will frowns, looking down at Hannibal for a moment, who picks up the unspoken request.

„It means lover. And no, Chiyo, we are not.“

Will locks eyes with him, knowing suddenly, breathless, his soul way ahead of his mind, hearing Hannibals voice as if through a dense fog.

„We are Sōrumeito. Soulmates.“

Will smiles softly, feeling out of body, his voice a whisper.

„We are Koibito, too.“

He bends down and kisses Hannibal, deeply, uncaring of her presence, wanting and -needing- it to be clear, to be this, for himself. And for them. When he draws back Hannibal takes a long time to open his eyes again, his gaze utterly black, fathomless deep.

„Yes.“


	9. Of Wishful thinking

******

„You look different. You said you would be.“ (Molly)

******

She returns to the lower part of the house to retrieve their breakfast, quite pleased how fast he learns. Quite pleased as well to not have to do it on her own anymore, the most difficult times apparently passed. Or, she quietly amends herself, yet to come, with them both mobile. 

The teeth will ache to tear once more.

She takes the tray up, watches as he fuzzes, showered now and weirdly endearing, fierce and dark and yet so unsure of what he fought so hard to win. Her eyes flit over to Hannibal, taking him in quietly as she sets the table, the beast temporarily tamed in the presence of its mate, absorbing the darkness that drifts around the room like a fog, just out of her field of vision. She nods at them and then leaves, knowing they will be alright now and -there- when she returns, still.

She takes the Tesla out, the car set up for her to control, though she does not indeed doubt that they would find a way, should they set their mind to it. The way is tranquil for her, beautiful and wild, barely tamed by the woodworkers she hires to keep the small road clear. The small Cessna waits for her on the field as agreed, the pilot paid to not ask questions.

The trip east is uneventful, the small plane taking her to a larger airport 2 hours off, where she boards a plane to Baltimore. She manages immigration easily, confident in her papers, the family ties of all Lecters and their associates very supportive. 

She rents a car then, a big car, taking the road up and north, her sources having informed her that -she- is at their cabin. She watches for a long time from the car, finally seeing the child leave, going somewhere with a friend of his and the parents, the headlights disappearing into the settling dusk.

She takes the small bag and walks up to the cabin, the house calm and quiet within the secluded wilderness, only the golden shine of a fire flickering inside. There is a bark and Chiyo stops, frowning slightly, the reality of encountering the animals slightly different to her hopes. She sighs quietly and knocks, the footsteps inside careful and yet sure, hesitating behind the door. It is pulled open an inch or two, the greeting curt and rough.

„Yes?“

Chiyo pastes a small smile on her face, her eyes intense, doubting for one moment her chosen course of action.

„Mrs. Graham. I have come to talk to you about your late husbands insurance. Could I have a minute?“

There is a pause and then the door opens fully, and Molly stares at her for a long time, Chiyo waiting patiently, enduring her scrutiny, various dogs sniffing at her feet. Molly huffs a laugh after a moment, stepping back, hand going out in a wide motion and then up to tug a stray curl behind her ear.

„Do come in then.“

She turns and stalks over to the oven, starting to make coffee, the dogs milling around at her feet, uncaring of what Chiyo would do. Chiyo tilts her head and carefully analyzes her reactions to this, merging them with the picture of Molly she had before, with the one she had before of him. She sits down at the table after a moment, waiting until Molly returns with two mugs, silently putting one down in front of her before lowering herself into another chair.

„Thank you, Mrs. Graham. My name is Fumiko Kagami. My condolences for your recent loss. I have come to… „

Her voice is sharp and yet quiet, bordering on relaxed resignation.

„Cut the crap.“

Chiyo closes her mouth, her lips twitching in a minute, appreciative smirk, her eyes lowering. Molly huffs a laugh, tone dripping with acid.

„We both know there is no insurance. And we both know that he is with him now, isn’t he.“

Chiyos face does not change but she raises her eyes, offering full eye contact at least and is very much pleased when Molly locks eyes with her, continuing sardonically.

„I should have known, you know. In his own way, he even tried to tell me. Borrowed time.“

She sniffs and averts her eyes, fingers drumming on the mug for a moment, her voice exhausted suddenly.

„Have you come to kill me?“

Chiyo raises her eyebrows, somewhat surprised, her answer instantaneous.

„No.“

Molly swallows and raises her mug, lightly toasting with it.

„Well, that’s good then.“

She takes a sip, the words leaving her on an exhale.

„Why are you here then?“

Chiyo hesitates and then picks up the bag, pulling the papers out carefully, before pushing them over to Molly, silently. Molly takes them and sifts through them, frowning, before raising her eyes, unbelieving.

„Didn’t we just… have that?“

Chiyo nods, once, taking the mug and taking a sip before answering.

„Yes. However, the papers will hold.“

Molly swallows, and then pushes the papers away with a jerky movement, crossing her arms in front of her chest, tone bitter.

„1,5 Million. I bet -he- wants to buy him out… because I sure as hell know that Will doesn’t have that kind of money.“

Chiyo tilts her head slightly in acknowledgement of the resentment, refuting with words, tone calm.

„He does not know.“

Mollys eyes snap to hers, huffing a sardonic and flabbergasted laugh, gesticulating at the papers.

„Isn’t this his money?“

Chiyo smiles slightly, inclining her head.

„It is.“

Molly puts down the mug and then rubs her face with her hands, voice muffled behind them.

„Oh god, this is like pulling teeth. Or asking a three year old. Will you answer me directly, please?“

Chiyo presses her lips together for a moment, trying to contain her smile.

„Yes.“

Molly snorts, shaking her head.

„Fine.“

She bends forward, her hands clasped, fingers pointing at Chiyo.

„Is Will still alive?“

„Yes.“

Molly closes her eyes for a moment, swallowing. She pushes on, her blue eyes flashing and Chiyo is reminded of another pair, also greatly influenced by mood.

„Is he with him?“

„Yes.“

„Voluntarily?“

Chiyo pauses, stilling, deliberating. She hesitates for a long moment before answering.

„Mostly.“

Molly clicks her tongue, her eyes narrowing, taking her in for a long moment before continuing.

„Are they … together?“

Chiyo tilts her head, her eyes flitting back and forth.

„They are koibito.“

Molly raises her eyebrows, slightly annoyed, and Chiyo inclines her head, supplementing.

„Yes.“

Molly nods to herself, averting her gaze, traveling over the pack of dogs, dozing in front of the fire. She swallows and then pushes herself up, disappearing into the back of the house and Chiyo breathes in the atmosphere for long moments, feeling surprisingly content. Molly returns after a few minutes with two leashes, and walks over to two of the dogs, quickly attaching the leashes.  
She whistles through her teeth and both dogs jump up, yawning, shaking for a moment before almost jumping up her legs, expecting a walk. Molly comes over to Chiyo and offers her the leashes quietly, waiting until she has taken them to explain.

„I’m a sucker for strays… But these two are the last of his old pack. He should have them.“ 

Chiyo turns the leather in her hand for a moment and then nods, standing up slowly, her gaze traveling along the walls, surprisingly reluctant to leave again, already. Molly steps by her and opens the door, quietly, looking weirdly forlorn in the large woolen cardigan, softly quipping.

„Been nice talking to you… come back by anytime.“

Chiyo inclines her head, the dogs following her movement, waving their tails in excitement while looking from one to the other.

„You did not ask if he would return.“

Molly smiles, sadly and yet relieved, looking wise far beyond her years suddenly.

„I know the answer to that already. I’m not much for wishful thinking.“

She closes the door and Chiyo turns looks at the closed door for a long time, before stepping down the steps.

Winston and Buster follow her, somewhat irritated, their claws scratching on the ground, the night swallowing their departure.


	10. Gentled by sacrifices of teeth and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut^^  
> Also, I blame the whole ABO stuff^^, BUT it just fits so well with them. *shrug*  
> Enjoy :P

*******

„You bore screams as a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone.“ (Hannibal)

*******

 

Will taps down into the quiet house after noon, the morning spent with reading and redressing and cleaning and… Will sighs, smirking wryly to himself, feeling bone tired. No wonder Chiyo wanted to let him do the chores of tending to Hannibal. He turns into the vast living room beyond the open kitchen, the place eerily quiet, the barricaded glass doors overshadowing a snowed over field in the back. With fresh tracks. Will clicks his tongue, looking closely into the woods but he does not find any sight of a grizzly at this moment, the vast wildness outside almost daunting.

He turns on his heel after a moment, listening closely, proceeding to look into the other rooms of the cabin after a moment, frowning when he finds them empty. Of people at least. There is a whole room set up as a wine cellar, unsurprisingly really, and another one for their food and supplies, though Will is vaguely and surprisingly disappointed to find no…. ‚long pig‘. He shakes his head at himself and snatches an apple from a crate, checking the laundry room and another guest room just to be sure. He hesitates in front of the entrance to the garage and then pushes it open, two big bikes, a sidecar and an empty spot greeting him. He bites into the apple, the juice heavenly fresh, the crunching sound loud in the quiet of the house, his thought racing.

He turns and walks back up, his legs shaking when he is finally at the top of the stairs, breath wheezing. He takes deep breaths until he feels stable again, his barely healed wounds throbbing in phantom pain.

He steps back into Hannibals room again, feeling weirdly out of body, the vision of him, frail and too small in the huge bed otherworldly. Hannibal turns his head towards Will and the moment evaporates, pierced by pure persona, Hannibals force of mind easily dispersing doubts about his state of body. Or mind. Still sharp enough to rend and tear, Will thinks as Hannibals voice rings out, the thought utterly without contempt.

„How long do you think she will be gone?“

Will sighs and rolls his shoulders, the stab wound still smarting. He pokes at his inner cheek with his tongue, the apples acid biting into the still raw scar tissue, the sensation tender but oh so welcome. He hums, scratching through his stubble, reminding himself to take it off later, his voice thoughtful.

„Maybe a few days? We’re fully stocked so that’s no problem. And if we -really- need to leave I can stuff you into the sidecar.“

Hannibal looks at him for a moment, his tone flat.

„I think not.“

Will cackles, his mind painting the picture beautifully.

„Aww, why not? Imagine, I’ll wrap you into blankets and drag you downstairs in them because I’m still not strong enough to carry you, then heave you into the sidecar, stuff you in like a… I don’t know, a marshmallow squeezed into a fist, and then I’ll take us out and the strain will make me pass out on the way and we’ll get eaten by grizzlies.“

He sobers a bit, taking another bite, watching the snowy fields outside for a moment.

„Would be almost poetic, don’t you think.“

Hannibal tilts his head, watching him intensely.

„Beasts, eaten by beasts.“

Will swallows, his voice faraway.

„They wouldn’t see it as cannibalism either.“

Hannibals eyes narrow, a dark undertone entering his voice.

„We are beyond normal concerns or morality, Will.“

Will smiles softly, finishing his apple, allowing his own darkness to flood in more easily, his neck prickling with phantom antlers.

„We are.“

He throws the apple away, the dull thud in the trash can echoing in the room. Will smirks sharply and then crawls onto the bed, hovering over Hannibals legs, his left hand traveling up along its outer line slowly, watching his own hand on the blanket.

„Do you still fantasize about eating me?“

Hannibal is silent and Wills eyes snap up to his, watches as the gaze darkens, the answer obvious. He muses quietly, his hand traveling to up Hannibals right side now. 

„So many possibilities… What would you eat?“

Hannibal grabs his hand, his voice a bit consternated.

„Will.“

Will looks at the hand pointedly and Hannibal releases his hand again after a moment, the shift in the air between them palpable. 

„I will not be your plaything anymore… you may play the game, Hannibal, but so will I.“

He raises his eyes to Hannibals at the last word, emphasizing his point, feeling the effect his assertion has against his inner wrist. He licks his lips, tilting his head, his voice dropping to a whisper.

„What would you eat, Hannibal?“

Hannibal gazes at him with a breathless concentration, his eyes dark, fascinated. He licks his lips after a moment, his lips twitching into a smile.

„Your heart of course, vicious boy.“ 

He raises his hand and pulls Will down, the kiss a clash of teeth and lips and tongues, hard and bruising and over again almost instantly, leaving them both panting. Hannibal whispers, harshly, his breath tickling Wills lips.

„And then I would proceed to devour all of you, the last of your flesh would be the last thing I would eat, untainted within me, kept until eternity, both of our bodies together, in death.“

Will moans and closes his eyes, weirdly and wildly aroused by the prospect, all his senses informing him that Hannibal is telling the truth. His hand drops to the bulge under the blanket and then presses in, so he can reach lower, drawing a hiss from Hannibal and Will opens his eyes again, pupils fully blown.

„I’m glad you still feel, even if you can’t walk just now, Hannibal…“

Hannibal snarls at him and Will grins, teeth flashing, tone sardonically amused.

„I bet you always thought you’d have me first, didn’t you…“

There is a hiss and then Hannibal pulls him into another biting kiss, and Will gives as good as he gets, teeth catching on lips, the small drops of copper only serving to heighten their arousal. Will draws back against the pull in his hair, smiling sharply, licking the droplets off.

„Do we have something here or do I have to be creative…“

Hannibal regards him almost defiantly, breath rough, and then reaches over, indicating the drawer next to his bed, his voice raw.

„There is some lube in there. She used it at first to change the catheter.“

Will grins, eyes sparkling.

„Lucky for you that you don’t need it anymore, isn’t it.“

Hannibals eyes flash indignantly.

„I have enough strength in my arms to hold myself up.“

Will smirks, licking his lips, sees, how Hannibal tracks the movement. He leans close, nudging his nose against Hannibals, his voice low.

„I wonder if you will have enough strength to hold onto me when I’m done with you.“

He feels the pulse under his left hand in tandem with the almost outraged dark look and he laughs darkly, gently though somehow, needing and craving the edge, desperate for it. He tilts his head and draws his teeth through the stubble, knowing it has to be rough and gentle in equal measure, a conquering of sorts, the assertion of the claim he stakes. 

He inhales deeply at the base of Hannibals throat, the hand in his hair flexing, the movement of Hannibal swallowing utterly erotic. Will opens his mouth and bites down, not really thinking about it, feeling his teeth hold sharply, not breaking skin but bruising, the knowledge that he could, that Hannibal would allow it making him shake. Hannibal groans under him and undulates slightly, almost unconsciously and Will lets go with a hiss, raising his head to look Hannibal in the eye, his own heavily lidded.

„I will mark you there.“

Hannibals eyes flash, furious and proud, and Will bends down and kisses him very softly, a stark counterpoint of emotions running through him.

He pushes himself up and looks down at Hannibal for a long moment, reaching, -seeing-, sitting heavy on Hannibals legs, before he crawls up and shuffles under the blanket with him, pulling it up so they are cocooned under it. 

He pushes a hand out and fumbles for the drawer, finding the small tube after a moment and pulling it in, pushing it under the pillow under Hannibals head, their eyes locked on each other. 

Will pushes up on all fours again and then starts to unbutton Hannibals pajama top silently, feeling weirdly calm and achingly hard, keeping his eyes on the task now. He pushes the shirt off Hannibals shoulders quietly, ignoring the arms, the actions of actually exposing Hannibal almost brutally intimate, and Will is glad for the cocoon he made for them, a bubble of reality, just for them. 

He slowly pulls his own t-shirt off, careful not to dislodge the blanket, putting it to the side, seeing and ignoring how Hannibals left hand fingers clench on the cloth. He bends down and licks at the hollow of Hannibals throat, their chest dragging against each other, just slightly, nerves tingling. He licks along Hannibals right collarbone, dragging his cheek over the skin then slightly, watching the goosebumps erupt with the slight scratching. He grins and then bends and licks and sucks on Hannibals right nipple, the exhale almost a moan, Hannibals face tilting up, obscured by the blanket. Will growls and worries at it with his teeth until Hannibal moans and hisses, his hand coming up to clench into Wills hair again, pulling and holding. Will ignores the pull and moves over, cataloguing reactions on the way, fascinated to see the beat so close.

He moves lower, mouthing around the wound dressing, knowing the wound below it is still raw and angry, though healing finally, likely to be irritated soon. Again. He pushes the thought away, some primal part of him knowing and edging him on, the rustles of tar black feathers echoed in the whispers of the blanket.

He sits up slightly and then undresses Hannibal fully, pulling the pajama trousers and the boxers down in one fluid motion, bending and turning to pull them off his legs, the smell drafting up making him light headed. He leaves the clothing at Hannibals feet, pulling his own off after, pushing that over to Hannibals right side, a counterpoint to hold onto and Hannibals right hand snaps to it immediately, clenching as well.

Will exhales shudderingly in the shared heat of their cocoon, eyes lowering to Hannibals cock, hard and leaking against his stomach, the hand beyond it just out of focus, white knuckled. Will licks his lips and then forms the words, whispering, incredible loud and laden with impact.

„Hannibal, have you ever…“

He trails off, knowing the answer already, some part of him flabbergasted and another unsurprised and yet another… pleased. He swallows harshly, his eyes snapping up to Hannibals face, seeing the swallow, seeing the minute shake, Hannibals voice gravely.

„No other was ever worthy.“

Hannibal swallows again, the smirk just visible under the blankets hood.

„Though I am very well versed in giving pleasure that way.“

Will snorts and then hums, tone bordering on playful again.

„Well, then you can only hope I am as well….“

Hannibal exhales in a rush, his voice brittle and yet wondering, darkness bleeding through the cracks.

„You will be transcendental.“

Will snorts almost, his stomach fluttering.

„No pressure…“

Hannibal smiles softly, a weird edge of vicious vulnerability on his mouth, words quiet.

„Do you need me to instruct you?“

Will closes his eyes for a moment, wondering at the weird shift in their dynamic for a moment.

„No.“

Hannibal unclenches his right hand and lifts it up to push a stray curl behind Wills hair, eyes dark on Wills.

„Is it academic knowledge you possess?“

Oh for heavens sake. Will narrows his eyes, suddenly tired of all the obfuscated talking, bending down and close to Hannibals face, breathing the words against his mouth.

„No, not only.“

He bends down and swallows the snarl that twitches across Hannibals face, no empathy needed to know the waves of hatred bathing him in a fever glow are borne of jealousy. He deepens the kiss harshly, biting and taking, pushing down until Hannibal gives, just minutely, but enough to be felt. Will withdraws, panting, hurling the words.

„You took so many of my firsts, Hannibal, orchestrated them, forced them… don’t get high and mighty with me now.“

He licks his lips, eyes flashing, ignoring Hannibals right hand, locking around his throat now, tight but not truly restricting. Will pushes forward into it, hissing the words.

„If it’s any consolation, I never did it bareback.“

He bends down again, bending Hannibals arm with his weight, the hand constricting now, pushing the words past the constriction.

„There will be nothing between us though, nothing left separating us, after this.“

The hand tightens harshly for a moment and Hannibal snarls at him, fully, eyes flashing in fury and desperation and yearning, before the fingers lock and pull him down by his throat, likely leaving dark bruises, the kiss just a breath of a touch, shivering with feeling between them. 

Will lowers himself onto Hannibal, aligning their bodies slowly, using his own legs to push Hannibals apart, very slowly, their eyes locked, his weight slightly off to one side. Hannibal looks at him for a long moment and then nods, once, before pulling him down once more, one of his nails drawing blood, the slight coppery smell heavy in the confined space. Hannibal breathes the word against Wills lips before he kisses him deeply, reverberating between them.

„Yes.“

Hannibal drops his hand to the side again, locking gazes with Will once more, and raises his eyebrows silently and Will huffs a laugh, reaching calmly for the small tube. He squeezes some on his left hand and moves his fingers for a moment, warming it, quite serious suddenly, unable to look away from Hannibals eyes. He lets his hand travel down with fingers bent, his knuckles gliding over the skin, echoing the movement of Hannibals mouth dropping open with a quiet exhale when he glides over Hannibals cock, down and down until he uncurls his fingers, ghosting over the skin there, sending shivers everywhere.

Will smiles gently and then oh so slowly starts to prepare Hannibal, just pressing and retreating until it gives almost on its own, the glide not deep until Hannibal groans just right, fingers not added until the moans change their cadence. 

It’s quiet and brilliantly intimate, hot and overwhelming in their little cocoon and Will is drenched in sweat when he can finally move three fingers comfortably, Hannibal still white knuckled and tense, but panting freely now. Will smiles again and then twists his fingers up, sees how the shudder runs through Hannibal, beautifully undulating under him as far as he is possible, leaking profusely. 

Hannibal unclenches his hands and then locks them both in Wills hair, pulling him up by it, dislodging his fingers in the process, his voice raw, bordering on broken.

„Now, mylimasis.“

Will groans and kisses him, the kiss wet and deep and heat, fumbling for more lube, glad for the cold of it, his hands pushing Hannibals legs up and over his arms and up onto his shoulders before he settles over Hannibal again, knowing the position will hurt most likely but Hannibal gives no sign of discomfort, pupils fully blown, hands kneading in Wills curls, breaths mingling.

Will pushes forward and Hannibal snarls under him, quietly, his eyes burning into Wills, demanding it all. There is resistance and Will forces himself to go slowly, continuously, groaning when Hannibals body gives after a moment, the quick rising and falling of Hannibals chest under him testament to the force of mind it takes and Will bends down, taking both their minds off with a deep kiss.

He mewls into the kiss after a moment, the heat almost unbearable, and Hannibal huffs a laugh, breaking the kiss, some sense of knowing returning, probably applying his own knowledge to the situation finally.

„Move, mylimasis.“

Will exhales a shuddering breath and then starts a rhythm, going as slow as he can, the heat threatening to take his mind, shying away from the thought of them, here, now, knowing he would break with it, with the implications. He rotates his hips until he finds the angle that makes Hannibal moan, grinning wildly down at him when he does so, receiving a slap onto his upper arm in response. He raises his eyebrows, eyes sparkling, some of the pressure dropping away, keeping the momentum until it gets easy to move, until Hannibal relaxes under him, receiving only pleasure. Will hums and then bends down again, the kiss wet and sloppy and yet gentle somehow, building slowly. Hannibal tightens his hands in his hair and holds him a bit away for a moment, his voice dark, undulating as much as he can, softly with Wills movements.

„Make me come, Will. I wish to feel you without the need.“

Will frowns, starting to say something and then refrains, reminding himself that this -is- Hannibal after all, not somebody he would need to remind of oversensitivity. He picks up the pace a bit, and Hannibals mouth drops open, eyes lidded, still watching him, probably deriving as much pleasure from the sight of him as of the pleasure being dealt out. He grits his teeth and shifts his weight a bit, his right shoulder shifting, pushing Hannibals left leg down and outward, the shift in their bodies adding more pressure and Hannibal groans and then hisses, and Will powers once, hard, before resuming the pace of before with an effort, the blanket sticking to his lower back, damp with sweat. 

He bends down and bites harshly at Hannibals mouth, once, before he rears up again, his right hand taking hold of Hannibals cock, just holding until Hannibal groans and then he strokes it in counterpoint to his thrusts. It only takes a handful of strokes and Hannibal breaks under him, spectacularly, a deep, broken groan and a strong undulation coinciding with the pulsing in Wills hand and around Wills cock, the blackish red of Hannibals eyes disappearing under the almost closed lids, and Will falls into Hannibals mouth, trying to chase the sound, only holding on by force of mind. 

Hannibal moans after a long moment, his eyes opening again, pupils fully blown and with a sated look in them, and Will knows, just -knows- in that moment that he would do anything to see it again. Anything. He powers, harshly, hissing through his teeth, gaze locked on Hannibals, letting him see, letting him feel. He pulls his left shoulder back and lets Hannibals other leg fall down as well, his hands gripping his hips now, shuffling to his knees and pulling Hannibal back with him. He rears up, head pushing the blanket up a bit and fully powers now, dimly aware of the coppery smell coming from a fresh red spot on the wound dressing, still holding their gaze locked, knowing he is stripping himself bare under Hannibals gaze, the power of Hannibals eyes as potent as the pleasure, promising to be agonizingly good. 

Hannibal gasps, his hands lightly on Wills, and Will knows it is because of the oversensitivity but the thought only spurs him on, the thrusts harsh now, jarring. Hannibal blinks once, very slowly, an expression of delighted ecstasy crossing his face and he averts his face, eyes closing, baring his neck. Will screams at him through his teeth, the abyss beckoning and he falls forward, his hands coming up to grab Hannibals head, forcing it sideways even more, the precipice inescapable now. 

He bites down as he falls, Hannibals arms coming up to cradle him, gently, the sacrifice in blood and soul weighed and accepted, treasured and honored by both of their beasts.


	11. Them, awakening

*******

„Would you like me to get the nurse?“ (Alana)

*******

 

Will wakes in a fog of heavy air, saturated by them, cradled in Hannibals arms. He stretches a bit and then burrows back in, licking his lips, dried flakes of blood tumbling from them under his tongue. He groans and then retreats until he can actually look Hannibal in the eye, calm reddish eyes watching him, intensely. Will reaches up and dislodges the blanket from over their heads, fresh air rushing in and he inhales, deeply, Hannibals chuckle more felt than heard. He lowers his eyes to the bite wound in Hannibals neck, the indents clearly visible, a weird mix of pride, excitement and embarrassment rushing through him. 

He clears his throat and then turns his head to look at Hannibals wound dressing, sighing when he sees the red spot on it. He looks past it at the dried mess on their bodies and groans, the rumbling of his stomach changing the direction his thoughts are going and he chuckles as well, pushing his nose into Hannibals shoulder.

„Ah, I better get up and get us sorted out so we can find something to eat.“

Will bends forward and presses a quick kiss to Hannibal, his stomach fluttering at the thought that he just can, eyes dropping to the small wound in Hannibals throat for a moment, Hannibals eyes boring into his skull. Will rolls out of bed and staggers into the en-suite-bathroom, deliberating for a moment to take a shower but opts to wash them both down instead, warming the cloth before he takes it back to Hannibal. He washes Hannibal down quietly, trying not to blush, carefully handling him, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable, fraught with meaning. He returns to the bathroom and throws the cloths into the washing bin, retrieving the small disinfectant and a new wound dressing, before returning to Hannibal. 

Hannibals voice startles him from the almost meditative state he is in, mildly curious and low, more than relaxed.

„Will you let it scar?“

Will licks his lips, averting his eyes, his voice deceptively soft.

„Will -you- let it scar?“

There is a quiet exhale and Will raises his eyes, locking them with Hannibal crinkled ones, delighted amusement, tainted by obsessive need sparkling in them, echoed in the low timbre of his voice.

„It is your scar, Will.“

Will huffs a snort, narrowing his eyes a bit.

„On -your- throat.“

Hannibal smiles at him, teeth glinting sharply in the low light.

„Yes.“

Will bites his lips, reaching for the truth, so obvious suddenly.

„I want it to, yes.“

Hannibal fully smiles at him, canines clearly visible for a moment, flashing like fangs.

„Your claim, openly visible for all to see.“

Will raises his chin, swallowing against the emotion, sitting down on the bed without further comment, indicating the disinfectant with a nod of his head.

„I will clean it though. I don’t think your body could handle a bout of bacteria in your blood stream just now.“

Hannibal raises his eyebrows in mock amusement, and then tilts his head for easier access, never even flinching as Will cleans the wound. He hovers his fingers over the small indents afterwards, forcibly restraining himself from touching, jerking when Hannibal takes the cloth from him to dab at Wills throat as well. Will blinks and then smiles wryly when he remembers the grip there, wondering if his throat will be black and blue tomorrow. 

He quietly takes the cloth from Hannibal after, perfunctory and efficiently moving around the room to get the equipment to redress Hannibals wound, the silence easy between them. For once. He dresses after, the act of dressing Hannibal met by silent amusement until Will just throws the shirt at him, huffing in pretended annoyance.

„If you think I let you stay up here in bed you’re mistaken. You need to cook after all.“

Hannibal smirks, pulling the shirt over his head.

„Or, more to the point, I need to instruct you.“

Will rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue.

„Or that.“

He steps close and slips his right arm under Hannibals back, carefully picking him up with his other under his knees, feeling light headed when Hannibal pushes his arms around his neck silently, holding on. He picks him up with a grunt, muscles protesting and carries him over to the wheelchair with halting steps, terrified of stumbling. He puts Hannibal down carefully and with a relieved exhale, panting when he withdraws his arms, shaking his head.

„How exactly did Chiyo do this?“

Hannibal chuckles, a vicious glint in his eyes.

„She did not. I am strong enough to push myself over into the chair if you put it next to the bed.“

Will stops in the mid motion of straightening himself up, locking eyes with Hannibal, trying to put on a pissed expression and failing, the utmost he is managing bordering on peeved. He licks his lips, grumbling a bit.

„And, do pray tell, why didn’t you tell me that?“

Hannibal chuckles, reaching up to trace his finger along Wills jaw for a moment, eyes flashing.

„Someone promised to take all the strength in my arms, I wished to honor that result.“

Will blushes and then snorts at him, straightening up finally, his back protesting a bit. He shakes his head, wryly at himself.

„Whatever we will be, boring will be not among it.“

Hannibal tilts his head up and lets it fall back, his teeth glinting in the light.

„I should hope not, mylimasis.“

Will grins and then grips the handles, turning the wheelchair towards the door.

A shot rings and then the sound of a door being literally flung open and crashed open at the wall sounds up to them, heavy steps echoing through the lower hall. Will freezes over Hannibal, the antlers unfolding at rapid speed, like wings with claws, aching for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> Next one will be up soon, hopefully.  
> Busy week, sry.


	12. Hunting the wrong game

******

„Where shall we begin?“ (Hannibal)

******

 

There is a moment that Will feels his own exhale and then reality slows to a crawl, his hands on the handles of the wheelchair clenching, hard. He can feel the shift from Hannibal, something dark and vicious unleashed suddenly, burning at the edge of his mind. Will turns slightly and lets his gaze travel around the room, scanning for a weapon, his eyes falling onto one of the infusion cables. He lets the handles go and swiftly hurries over, his socked feet very quiet on the floor. He rips the cable off, twisting it around his fist, looking back at Hannibal over his shoulder after a moment.

Hannibal looks at him with a weird mixture of pride, elation and dark fury, probably directed at his own situation and Will locks gazes with him, trying to put everything he feels into it. He smiles softly, feeling relieved suddenly, the path of action very clear, sees the echoing smile on Hannibals lips, the tongue that wets the lips.

Will pulls another cable free and then skids back over to Hannibal, giving it to him. He pulls a blanket from the cupboard and puts it swiftly over Hannibals lap, hiding the cable there, pushing his own behind Hannibals back.  
He bends down and presses a kiss to Hannibals lips, trying to convey it all, feels how Hannibal presses back for a moment, before withdrawing, whispering against his mouth.

„Let’s hunt, beloved.“

Will swallows, and then grins, making sure to make some noise as he opens the door, pushing Hannibal out through it and over to the stairs, calling out in a deliberately shaken voice.

„Hello?“

The steps below stop and then a gruff voice calls out up to them.

„Come down, carefully, mate.“

Will narrows his eyes, modeling his voice to the expectations.

„My partner needs to use the lift. Please don’t shoot us.“

He pushes Hannibal over and hooks the wheelchair in, utterly calm suddenly. He hears the calm inhale of Hannibal, sees the twitch in his expression, knows that Hannibal is enjoying himself right now and the thought is utterly and weirdly relaxing. He presses the button and the lift descends slowly and Will walks down with it, letting his posture stoop, his shoulders drop, glad suddenly for the house clothes he wears, underlining their supposed harmlessness.

They round the turn and Will takes in the scene below, the barrel of a hunting rifle pointed at them. Will flicks his eyes to the side but cannot see the other, the small motion met by a chuckle from the man before him, fully decked out in green and gray hunting gear.

„No need to worry about my partner, buddy. You better worry about yourself. What are you doing here?“

Will raises his eyebrows, mind racing but Hannibal beats him to it, his voice sounding weary and exhausted.

„We got into an accident some weeks back. We have been convalescing.“

The man narrows his eyes, huffing a gruff laugh.

„Here? What the hell have you been doing here in the middle of the sanctuary?“

Will looks over a the shot out door lock, the door slightly ajar before returning his gaze pointedly at the gun still trained at them, his voice loosing some of the supposed shaking.

„We could ask the same of you…“

The man raises the gun a bit more, an angry expression on his face.

„Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re rangers.“

Will inhales deeply and then smiles, no pendulum needed anymore to access his abilities, not now that he is so relaxed with himself suddenly, the visionary antlers piercing reality without any effort.

„No. You are on a hunting trip and were driven from your camp by an angry grizzly you only managed to wound. You ran for your life. Your hunting partner is injured, which is why he is in the downstairs bathroom, his leg wound leaving these muddy bloody prints. Not too bad though, the biggest problem is that you lost your food, probably because you cannot return to the camp, since the actual park rangers are likely to have picked up on the break in the grizzlies movement pattern, with them all tracked via GPS. They came to check didn’t they.“

The man gapes at him for a long moment and then actually unlocks the gun and steps forward, pushing the barrel up in front of Wills face.

„Who the fuck are you? How the hell do you know all that?“

Will smiles sharply but Hannibal intervenes before he can answer.

„It would be wise to remove the barrel, Mr….“

The man hisses harshly, eyes wild.

„None of your fucking business. Now, where is your phone?“

Will shrugs nonchalantly, smiling widely, feeling almost out of body with anticipation.

„We don’t have one.“

The mans jaw works harshly for a moment, looking back and forth between them, obviously trying to work out if he is being mocked. He finally snarls slightly and growls at them both, stepping back a bit but keeping the rifle up.

„Fine. We’ll take your bikes then. You fucks stay where you are.“

Will sighs quietly through his nose, pressing his lips together for a moment, shaking his head in almost completely honest regret.

„I’m sorry. But, you know, we cannot have anyone knowing we’re here… and the Park Rangers have to find that grizzly’s kill, the two unfortunate poachers that underestimated their prey…“

The man looks at him for a moment with wild eyes before grunting a laugh, looking for a moment down the hall in the general direction of the bathroom, shifting on his feet, before hissing through his teeth again.

„Who the hell are you? Fugitives?“

Hannibal chuckles, his head tilting up to look at Will, eyes sparkling, his hand below the blanket shifting. He tilts his head forward again, voice kind, genial.

„We are the wrong people to find, unfortunately for you.“

The door down the hallway slams and interrupts the buildup, another man limping up to them, leg taped but grim looking, slowing when he steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he takes them in. There is a breathless silence and then his terrified exclamation, ringing loud in the air.

„Oh my god, Hannibal fucking Lecter.“

Hannibal sighs a torturous sigh and Wills lips twitch, feeling Hannibals annoyance keenly. He bends forward a bit, painting a pout on his face.

„Ah darn, no fame for me….“

Hannibal chuckles and then his hand shoots up to rip the gun from the mans hands, and Will jumps sideways just as the shot rings out, the banister behind him splintering. He hits the other mans legs with his back, a pained grunt ringing out as the man crashes to the ground next to Will. Will twists around and hurls himself up to the other mans chest, his hand gripping the handle of the big bowie knife. The mans hands shoot up, locking around his throat and Will snarls and then smiles, seeing the terror this elicits in the mans eyes. His smile widens and he leans forward with his weight, his hand pulling the knife out of its sheath, not bothering to aim, just twisting it and jabbing it in, the hands on his throat disappearing instantly, the man howling in pain. Will rears up and pulls the knife out, swinging it in an arc and back down, full weight behind it again, the knife going into the shoulder this time and Will disassociates, out of body, watching himself plunge the knife deep again and again, each jab making a different scar on his body flare up in phantom pain. 

He lets the knife fall to the ground after a dozen jabs, bathed in red from the arterial spray, breathing harshly. He twists around and looks towards Hannibal, realizing there is no sound forthcoming. Hannibal is still in his wheelchair, the hunter pulled backwards against it, half dangling from it, throat in a garrote hold by the infusion cable, still breathing but more or less unconscious. Hannibals eyes are fathomless black, mouth open, taking Will in, utterly uninterested in his own kill, all his senses trained on Will. 

Will closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them and pushes up, stalking over to Hannibal. He wrenches Hannibals head back harshly, the kiss biting and deep, sharing the taste of copper between them. Will lets his hands fall down, continuing to kiss deeply and traces down until he finds Hannibals hands, gripping them tightly. He thrusts his tongue deep and pushes Hannibals fists outward, pulling the cable tight, and Hannibal moans brokenly, jerking slightly in the chair. 

Will eventually returns his hands to Hannibals head and gentles the kiss, ignoring the dull thud when Hannibal lets the man drop to the ground uncaringly, his hands going up to clench into Wills t-shirt. Will breaks the kiss after long minutes, licking his lips, breathless, aroused and yet sated, bending down to press a kiss to Hannibals throat, licking at the wound there for a moment, bacteria be damned. Hannibals hands come up to softly thread through Wills hair, his voice sounding far away, broken somehow.

„I love you, Will.“


	13. Blood and memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I was predisposed with RDC3 preparations and preoccupied by the f***ing politics.  
> Didn't have the peace of mind. 
> 
> However, one today, next one will be tomorrow.^^

******

„You'll always be ruled by your fascination with teeth.“ (Hannibal)

******

 

It hurts. 

More than the knife wounds still healing, or the protesting of his still weaker than normal muscles, the words hurt the most. But then, they always have, between them, somehow, and Will breathes through the sudden pain that flares up at the words, his eyes closed, with his lips still touching the bite wound, his hands gripping the blanket and the wheelchair, his back cramping from the strange position he keeps standing in.

Hannibals fingers are still threading through Wills hair, his breathing ragged, the surmounting of his own barriers apparently taking their toll. Will frowns against his throat, feeling the pulse shudder under the skin. So fast. He pushes his hands forward and then around Hannibals back, his arms pulling tight, trying to convey everything through the embrace that he cannot yet say. Hannibals arms come up and lock around his back, both of his hands in Wills hair, holding now, pressing gently. 

They stay like this until Hannibals pulse slows down to its normal pace, until Will can feel the minute relaxation in the way too thin frame. He swallows and withdraws gently, raising his hands up to Hannibals face for a moment, both thumbs brushing along his stubbled jaw. He smiles gently, offering his soul through his eyes, brutally honest.

„I know.“

Hannibal swallows and then nods, lowering his eyes, obviously relieved and disappointed at the same time, and Will feels it keenly but cannot quite say yet, the feeling too mixed up in everything. He licks his lips and shakes his head, once, feeling the need to explain, after all that has already transpired.

„I feel… too much right now. It’s muddled. I want it to be pure.“

He hesitates, threading his fingers through Hannibals bangs for a moment.

„I want it to be separate from the base lust I feel running through me now.“

Hannibal reaches up, his hand stilling Wills, his words whispered.

„Anything I can help with, beloved?“

Will smirks wryly and then pulls his hand with his own, covering his own crotch.  
He watches as Hannibals pupils dilate, the black swallowing the red, unflinching on his own. He breathes out through his nose, eyes crinkling, voice low.

„Not now. Now I have to go and prepare a grizzly kill site while it’s still light outside.“

Hannibal squeezes softly and Will gasps and then cackles, forcing himself to step back, smirking a bit. He clicks his tongue, eyebrows raised and Hannibal huffs an overly disappointed sigh, the atmosphere between them strangely light, considering the situation they’re in. But then murder and mutilations have never fazed them much, Will muses, the mechanisms of thought and intent behind them much more unsettling. He tilts his head in consideration, and hesitates for a moment, his mind rearranging the puzzle pieces into a plan of action with hardly a blur of distorted reality, the cracks replacing the pendulum reaching, antler shaped. 

Will goes down the hallway into the garage and rummages around until he finds some large plastic foil and tape, smirking a bit at himself. He returns to the hall and searches through the mens possessions, taking note of their names before he returns their IDs to their pockets. He wipes the knife he used down carefully before he returns it to the sheath, tapping it once in thought. He turns to Hannibal, frowning.

„This is a hunters cabin…. are there any taxidermied animals here?“

Hannibal frowns in thought, pursing his lips.

„If there are, Chiyo might have brought them into the storeroom. She prefers live animals.“

Will nods, walking down to the small door next to the garage door, hoping. He pulls the door open and whistles through his teeth, smiling a bit smugly, after. He pulls the grizzly head out, mounted on a board to hang, displaying its fangs proudly. He carries it back to Hannibals, placing it onto his lap with a flourish, his teeth glinting in the low light.

„Oh look, the murder weapon.“

Hannibal chuckles slightly and then traces the fangs softly, his eyes sparkling.

„Whatever did you do with Randall Tiers beast suit, Will?“

Will raises his eyebrows.

„You mean, after I wore it to your Halloween party?“

Hannibal raises his head, leveling Will with a reluctant expression. Almost guilty. Will narrows his eyes, waiting, his fingers tracing one of the bears ears.

„Yes. I had… Chiyo check for it after you moved in with your wife. She said it was not in your possession anymore.“

Will grinds his jaw, looking away for a moment, his expression peeved.

„Why did you check for that, Hannibal?“

There is a brief silence and then Hannibal whispers the words at him, loud between them.

„I wished to save it from the police. I have very fond memories of our … Halloween dinner.“

Will swallows, snorting to himself, while shaking his head. He grins, a bit sardonically, returning his gaze to his beast.

„It’s still there. I had locked it and some other stuff up at a long term storage before I left to go after you.“ 

He sighs open mouthed, admitting it to himself just as much as to Hannibal.

„I couldn’t get rid of that memory either.“

Hannibal bites his lower lip, his eyes dark, intense.

„May I feed you, again, beloved?“

Will grins, his fingers dropping to Hannibals, still caressing the fangs.

„I’ll provide the meat.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...   
>  The 'Halloween' situation can be found [ HERE ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8348923)  
> Wearing the beast suit and leather and hand feeding UST. Ahem :)


	14. Bits and pieces, ripped out

******

„Did you kill him with your hands?“ (Hannibal)

******

 

Will takes the stairs two steps at a time, feeling weirdly invigorated, the thrill of the kill still thrumming through him.  
He opens every closet he can find until he finds some sturdy and warm clothes, jeans and sweaters, slightly too big, probably from the houses previous owners. He dresses himself, using two pair of socks to adapt to the shoe size, feeling weirdly free suddenly. He skids back down, frowning at the bloody track marks into the kitchen, Hannibal obviously tired of waiting for him to clean up first. He follows them into the kitchen and grins when he sees Hannibal check the cupboards he can reach, obviously trying to discern their supplies. Hannibal smirks at him and then rolls over to another cupboard, taking a gun out, offering it to Will.

„You should not go into the wild unprotected. And the rifles second bullet should be fired on site.“

Will nods, checking the magazine, smirking wryly.

„It’s really a golden cage she put us in, isn’t it. With open doors and guns and knives…“

Hannibal smiles softly, one eyebrow rising.

„Chiyo has always been very apt at discerning other people intentions.“

Will purses his lips, swallowing.

„She once told me there were other means of influence, but that I would understand violence. Guess I didn’t want to understand her.“

Hannibal tilts his head, a slight darkness creeping into his tone.

„And yet you understood perfectly when you used those other means to throw us off a cliff.“

Will presses his lips together, slightly annoyed suddenly, snarling quietly.

„I had a lot of time to think….“

Hannibal narrows his eyes, waiting, obviously sensing Will is not done yet. Will swallows.

„And to miss you. And to… bury that feeling. Deeply.“

Will shakes his head to clear it, huffing a laugh.

„Didn’t help.“

He raises his head, rolling his shoulders, feeling the pull of the healing wound there. Hannibal pulls out another drawer, reaching into it to pull out a knife.

„Take this with you, Will. I know you prefer it to actual guns.“

Will takes the knife from him, watching his own face in the reflection like he did in that kitchen back then, so long ago. He levels Hannibal with a look, open and brutally honest.

„What will we have?“

Hannibal licks his lips, eyes flashing for an instant.

„I believe I would like a heart…“

He turns the wheelchair slightly so he can face Will more directly, his voice dropping low.

„Please be home by seven with the meat. I would like to eat by 8 o’clock.“

Will snorts and then bends forward, breathing the words against Hannibals lips, skin gliding.

„Yes, dear.“

He straightens up and leaves the kitchen, grinning to himself, Hannibals eyes boring into his back, silent.

 

****

 

It’s gruesome and exhausting work, leaving the hallway and garage in a bloody mess.

Will has to tape the corpses onto the side car, rolled into plastic, the small motorcycle groaning with the weight. He takes the bike out, slowly, grateful for the fact that the hunters apparently followed their little road to their house, and equally unsettled by it, mind churning with possibilities to hide the tracks. He leaves the gun in the kitchen, opting for the knife instead.

He follows the path up into the forest, stopping at a turn with a little boulder to hide the bike behind, deeming it far enough away from their house. He drags the plastic bags through the foliage, wheezing and panting, one after another, drenched in sweat when he finally puts them onto a small clearing, stumbling back to the bike to retrieve the grizzlys taxidermied head.

He unwraps the bodies and props them up against trees, letting the one fall over onto the ground, as if the bear had managed to surprise them sitting down, and one had tried to crawl away. Will hesitates and looks at his knife for a moment and then he shakes his head and pushes his hands into the skull, feeling the bones under his hands. He breathes in deeply and then lets the antlers grow, vicious dark tendrils piercing through reality, entwining with the need to maul, to tear, the taste of copper on his tongue.

It takes time. 

Will lets the hits rain down, his mind in an almost meditative red haze, the teeth catching again and again, bits of flesh and skin and cloth flying away, droplets of red raining down around him him. He tugs and pulls with the teeth, the splintering of bone loud in the air, dampened somehow with the snowflakes, drifting to the ground beside him. Will raises his face to the sky when he can see the heart of the man he stabbed, the whole upper body a mess, his knife marks long gone in tears and rends. He fires the rifle with the mans cold hands pressed to the trigger, dropping it close to the man.

He drags himself over to the other man and focuses on the throat there, actually snapping the jaws close and ripping it out, his own low scream at the motion echoing through the wilderness. He drops backwards after, panting, chuckling to himself, cold impressions settling on his skin and he looks up into the settling sky, whiteness obscuring his view. He licks his lips and tastes purity, feeling weirdly out of body, suspended on a moment of clarity. 

His stomach growls and he smiles, freely, closing his eyes for a moment. He rolls onto his side and then pushes up, scooting over to the first man again, already half covered in snow, not so much melting anymore, the body temperature already dropped quite low. He opens the jaws carefully and positions them, the force needed to take the bite out making his shoulder flare in pain, his teeth aching from the way he grits them. He finally manages to close the teeth, gasping with the effort, and he pulls it back, snarling as he does so. He pushes himself to his feet, swaying a bit on them, taking two steps back to survey the scene he created, shuffling a bit around on the ground to mask any real footprints, but the ground is so hard that it doesn’t take the tracks, a good thing really, since Will forgot to bring a Grizzlys paws to make the claw scratch marks. He retracts his steps to the bike, his hands still keeping the skulls jaws closed, increasingly glad for the snow, covering everything with ever bigger snowflakes, coming down in heavy swirls now.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the bike, stumbling to it, his whole body hurting with overexertion. He puts the skull with the heart down carefully on the side cars seat, holding himself up on his extended arms for a long moment, willing his limbs to stop shaking. He stumbles over to the bike when he can breathe again, glad to be able to sit down. He starts it, the rumble of the heavy machine invigorating slightly, making sure to drive over the hunters tracks on his way back, obscuring them even more. 

He stops at the edge of the forest, the house at the far end of the fields lighted up, beckoning. He smiles to himself, the wording of the ship at sea that he used to describe his old house with so long ago coming back to him, the image wavering and shifting to encompass the imago of home. 

He pulls into the garage and inhales deeply, the breathtaking aromas of copper and vegetables mixing with that of fresh bread. Will takes the skull out and walks towards the kitchen, uncaringly crossing the almost and very sticky blood in the hallway, adding to the tracks. He steps into the kitchen and stops, watching as Hannibal turns towards him as if in a dream, looking almost comically with the white apron hanging down his legs in the wheelchair, utterly unfazed by it. There are candles on the table beyond the kitchen counter, the settings beautifully done and it is so bitterly domestic it shatters Wills last defenses. 

He sinks to his knees, splattered in blood and pieces of flesh, still, silently offering the skull to Hannibal. Hannibal rolls over and takes it from him, equally silent, his fingers stroking over the closed fangs, now red with blood. 

Will breathes out, the last piece clicking into place.

„I love you, too.“


	15. Celebrations of life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut and food.  
> (That's the show, isn't it?^^)

******

„But the feast is life. You put the life in your belly and you live.“ (Hannibal)

******

 

Hannibal puts the skull onto the counter next to him, carefully, his fingers tracing the teeth for a moment before turning back to Will, his eyes glinting in the glow of candles and the oven, bathing them both in surreality.

Will looks up at him still, mouth open slightly, feeling stupefied, flayed open by his own admission, the words still wounding when actually meant. Hannibal bends forward and reaches for Wills face, softly pulling with both hands on his jaw until he can touch their lips together in a whispering touch. 

„How beautiful you are, beloved, bathed in life’s manifestations.“

Will mewls, a wounded sound that somehow serves as catalyst, spurring him into action. He pushes up and against Hannibals chair, pushing it back against the counter before climbing onto it, his knees squeezing next to Hannibals legs, uncomfortably and unimportant, the chair squeaking beneath their combined weight. He licks his lips, sees how Hannibals pupils dilate rapidly, his hands dropping to Wills hips. Will blinks, slowly, voice raw.

„Can we turn everything off?“

Hannibal swallows, nodding jerkily.

„Yes, mylimasis.“

Will exhales a shaking breath, his hands reaching out to turn the dials down, the kitchen quieting down within a few moments, suspended around them. He presses his lips together for a moment and then shakes his head, dropping it back for a moment. He reaches out again and then takes the bottle of olive oil, before climbing back off the chair and pulling Hannibal with him by his fist clenched in Hannibals shirt, the cloth pulling tight, the wheels dragging slightly due to the angle. He walks backwards towards the hall, Hannibals eyes boring into his own, and Will breaks their gaze only to chance a look at the door, seeing it barricaded with a chain, the fact dropping from his mind again in an instant, unimportant. 

He pulls Hannibal from the wheelchair with a jerky pull, his muscles protesting, stumbling with the weight, Hannibals arms clutching his upper arms, an expression of dark and yet somehow vulnerable delight on his face. Will drops them both down in the puddle of blood in the hallway, just carefully enough not to hurt, Hannibal coming to rest on his back and Will crouches over him for a moment, panting harshly.

Hannibal moves his head back and forth minutely, the sticky red clinging to his hair, the copper smell permeating everything. Will bends down and takes Hannibals mouth, hungry for the sounds and vibrations, traveling through them both, his hands threading through the messy strands. Hannibals hands clench in his sweater at his waist, pulling him down, and Will goes willingly, their bodies slotting together, taking up instinctual movements right away. Will moans into Hannibals mouth, grinding harshly for a moment, before he breaks their kiss, pressing his forehead to Hannibals. 

He rears up after a moment, breaking Hannibals hold on him, pushing back onto his knees and starts fumbling with his trousers, pushing them down unceremoniously, dropping them to the side, followed by his sweater, skin seeming glowing in the low light from the kitchen. An expression of awe sweeps across Hannibals face and Will revels in it, freely fro the first time, bathing in it.   
He kneels back down, undoing Hannibals trousers as well, pulling them off matter of factly, crawling back up over him when he is done. 

He bends down again, Hannibals hands coming up to pull him into a deep kiss by his hair, tongue stroking. Will reaches for the bottle he dropped next to Hannibals head, moaning into the kiss. He pushes it against Hannibals arm, drawing back slightly, licking his lips, voice a gravelly whisper.

„Prepare me.“

Hannibal groans and then pulls Will down again, teeth clashing in a bruising kiss. Will lowers himself slowly, knees on either side of Hannibals waist, both groaning in unison when they realign, gliding slowly. Will feels Hannibal shift slowly, his hands gliding down his neck and over his shoulder blades, one dropping to the side, the bottle clinking against the ground and Will moans into Hannibals mouth, undulating. The glass of the bottle glides across the skin of his back and Will shivers, the rasp of the cap being turned rattling through him. He draws back between kisses, gasping the words.

„Don’t tease.“

Hannibal bites his tongue in response and pours some oil on his back and Will mewls into the kiss, bending his back so it flows down, the bottle hitting the ground with a jarring sound, unheeded by either. Hannibals hands drop down and pull Wills hips forward, his fingers pressing in, spreading and gliding, just on the other side of rough and Will revels in it, lets himself fall into the feeling, needing the grounding. Hannibal pushes two fingers in and Will utters a low groan, half screamed into Hannibals mouth, his own hands holding onto Hannibals hair in a death grip. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss impossibly further, feeling eaten alive, hot wet heat taking every thought except the sensations of Hannibals mouth and tongue and warmth, demanding all. He pushes against the slightly uncomfortable feeling, forcing the stretch, needing the edge and Hannibal groans under him, taking the cue and adding another finger, the burn now flaring, too much, too soon, not enough. Never enough. Will breaks the kiss and rears up, forcing the fingers deep, his head thrown back, arching over Hannibal. More oil runs down and the glide eases and Will undulates, his eyes closing, feels the way Hannibal does -not- touch there and he chuckles harshly, rolling his hips, once.

He drops his head again and levels Hannibal with a lewd look, knowing it has worked when the fingers are being pulled out, both of Hannibals hands locking on his hips, uncaring of the mess, gripping bruisingly. Will lets Hannibal move him, keeping their gazes locked, offering himself up. Hannibal snarls at him and raises his eyebrows, breathing harshly, a look of intense concentration settling and Will grins viciously, knowing every breath is being persisted in Hannibals mind palace now, treasured, always. 

Hannibal pushes him down, slowly but unrelentingly and Will arches back, trying to breathe through it, eyelids fluttering, gasping, feeling split in two, the pieces of him coming together again around Hannibal in a burning pressure, forged and cultivated by dark and obsessive need. He sobs when he sinks down all the way, the feeling of possession incredibly freeing, conversely, this moment so long danced around and insinuated, flirted with and denied. 

He waits for a long moment, trying to store this feeling away as well, the harsh raising and falling of the chest between his knees keeping tandem to the thundering of his heart. He raises a bit up and sinks down again, hissing through his teeth, heat traveling through him. He raises again and this time Hannibal pushes him down again and Will moans, eyes slit. He lets himself fall into the rhythm, rolling his hips slightly, Hannibals hands keeping the pace, unrelenting, just shy of painful. He pushes his hands onto Hannibals chest to gain leverage, changing the angle slightly and gasps loudly, the drag now right against his prostate, achingly good. A whispered word reaches him and he lets his head fall forward, locking gazes with Hannibal again. Another whispered word, and Will dimly realizes it may be Italian, the words caressing him. Hannibal smiles softly at him and then punctuates his next word with a slam to Wills prostrate, his hands pulling Will down forcefully. Another word, another thrust and Will can feel it build, helpless against the masterfully doled out pleasure, the perfect agonizing mixture of pleasured agony, releasing his mind, wiping all thought. He raises his eyebrows, his mouth dropping open, feeling the scream gather in the depths of his chest, forced out by the beast he loves, claiming him. 

It rings in the hallway, the whiteout intense, his body shuddering through his release, mixing with the red everywhere. Hannibal gasps beneath him, silver streaks running down his face, his hands coming up to pull Will down, still gasping through it, still senseless, claiming his mouth again. He holds Will down until he moans with his returning sensations and then holds Will an inch from his lips, waiting. Will grins sharply and then rolls his hips, hissing with the over sensitivity, inconsequential in comparison to the way Hannibals eyes close in ecstasy for a moment, pupils fully blown. Will does it again and again, sees it build, no restrictions in those eyes anymore, not for him and he snarls, needing to see the gaze break, needing, needing, shouting with Hannibal when it does, the gaze turning far away for a moment, vision taken by pleasure, the little death, as it was named so aptly. 

Will lowers his upper body down when he feels the pulsing stop, the feeling of being claimed so intimately strangely satisfying. Hannibals arms come around to hold him, one hand going down to trace where they are still joined, the action brutally intimate. Hannibals voice seems far away, low against Wills mouth.

„I will not be able to get enough of you, mylimasis.“

Will licks his lips, his eyelids drooping, intense relaxation settling, despite the cramping in his knees.

„Then don’t. Get back onto your feet and we can fuck like the rabbits.“

Hannibal snorts and then pushes his fingers in, harshly, next to his softening cock.

„Language, dear.“

Will grins, burrowing into Hannibals neck.

„Or what… you spank me?“

There is no answer and Will narrows his eyes, head coming up slightly.

„Oh…. you’d love that, wouldn’t you.“

Hannibal purses his lips, eyes rolling playfully.

„Of course. I will love everything you allow me to do.“

Will snorts and then burrows back in, inhaling their combined scents deeply, his voice dreamy.

„Well, for a first time you knew what I wanted pretty well…“

Hannibals hand travels up Wills back, stroking his hair softly, nails scratching his scalp.

„You need to be taken out of your mind with pleasure. Quite literally.“

The fingers tighten to slight tugging and Will moans softly with the feeling, feeling bereft when he feels Hannibal slip free. He swallows, nodding slightly.

„Yes. I…“

He pushes himself up a bit until he can lock gazes with Hannibal, the admission a bit breathless.

„I look forward to exploring this, between us.“

Hannibal hums and then draws a finger down Wills cheek, his voice playful.

„I hope you look forward to dragging us both into the shower now as well, mylimasis.“

Will drops his head again and groans in jest, chuckling gently against Hannibals throat.

 

****

 

Hannibal sends him into the living room when they’re finally clean and clothed again, the hallway still a mess, even more so now, but Wills exhaustion and his rumbling stomach really force him to slow down a bit now, the crackling fire relaxing him even more. The wine burns on his tongue, velvety fire, blurring with the edges of exhaustion. He starts from his almost meditative stupor when Hannibal rolls up next to him, a platter with food on his knees. Will takes it down and puts it on the ground, following the unspoken request and helping Hannibal out of the wheelchair and down onto the rug next to him when he holds out his hand.

They settle next to each other against the sofa, the platter on Hannibals legs, and Will offers him his own glass of wine with a smirk, quite unwilling to get up again anytime soon. Hannibal echoes the smirk and takes a sip, putting the glass down gently. He selects a piece of meat and offers it to Will, dripping with a deep red gravy, and Will opens his mouth, seeing Hannibals mouth drop open as well, his fingers brushing Wills lower lip when he pushes it in. Will closes his eyes and the taste explodes in his mouth, the fruity counterpart to the juicy meat melting on his tongue. He chews slowly, knowing Hannibal watches him, not obscured by fangs this time, like the last time he was fed this way. He opens his eyes, locking gazes, his voice gently taunting.

„Is this how you would eat my heart?“

Hannibal swallows and then averts his eyes, picking up some vegetables this time. He pushes them into Wills mouth, his fingers hovering over Wills lips, words almost inaudible.

„No, mylimasis. Your heart I would eat raw.“

Will exhales shudderingly through his nose, reaching to pick up a piece of meat himself, pushing it up to Hannibals mouth. His fingertips tingle as he pushes it in, touching wet heat for a moment, his body too tired but his mind supplementing just fine. 

They clear the platter slowly, the little offerings alternating with kisses at some point, almost chaste in comparison but pure somehow, charging the atmosphere between them with feeling. Will takes a big mouthful of wine when he is done, bending forward to share it with Hannibal, the cool wine mixing intoxicatingly with the heat of their mouths and tongues. He moans deeply and follows the movement when Hannibal pulls him down onto the rug with him, embracing him in front of the fire, kissing slowly, for kissings sake. 

Will falls into the warmth, sheltered and kept, his fingers gliding through silk until the darkness claims him.


	16. Homecoming

******

"He was charming the way a cub is charming, a small cub that grows up to be like one of the big cats." (Chiyo)

******

 

Will rouses from sleep with a bewildered exclamation, staring befuddled at the dogs jumping and licking all over him. He blinks slowly, trying to wake up, the situation surreal, bathed in the low glow of the dying embers in the fireplace. His vision wavers and then clears again as the tears fall, his fingers threading through the fur, Buster and Winston only calming down slowly, barking happily. He gasps and pulls them to himself for a moment, both dogs quieting down to little yips and mewling, shuddering in his arms. Will looks up when Chiyo steps up to him, carrying two bowls with water and meat, and he lets them go, watching as they both devour the meat, feeling decidedly out of it. He swallows, dragging a hand down his face, his stubble rasping, shaking his head to clear it.

„So that is where you were.“

She levels him with a calm look, inclining her head a fraction in acknowledgement.

„I do know why you chose her now.“

Will laughs harshly, just a tad on the bitter side.

„Oh, do you now.“

He swallows again, looking around the room.

„Where’s Hannibal?“

Chiyo sits down in one of the armchairs, primly and yet relaxed, decidedly graceful.

„Upstairs. Laying here was not beneficial for his wound.“

Will pulls a face, silently admitting the point. Chiyo exhales quietly, looking back over her shoulder. 

„You were busy.“

Will snorts, eyebrows raising in amusement.

„Yeah, well, not voluntarily.“

He shrugs, feeling a bit peevish.

„Sorry for the mess.“

Chiyo shrugs, a soft smile tugging on her mouth.

„You will clean it up.“

Will clears his throat, wisely not objecting, the tone in her voice quite clear. He looks at the dying fire for a moment, then back at the dogs, settling in front of the sofa now, and Will reaches over, threading his fingers through their fur.

„How was she?“

Chiyo tilts her head, eyes glinting like coals.

„Strong.“

She smiles softly, and Will feels her gaze keenly, waiting for her to continue.

„I honored your request.“

Wills eyes snap up to hers, boring into her, some weight he did not know he carried dropping away. He breathes the words, not needing more information.

„Thank you.“

Chiyo inclines her head, her expression turning slightly embarrassed for a moment.

„I believe it would be wise not to mention this to him.“

Will snorts, nodding jerkily quietly snickering, the atmosphere between them companionable conspirative.

„Yeah, he’s not that good with base emotions, is he. Not a good idea to make him jealous.“

Chiyo nods once, commenting very drily.

„Indeed.“

Will sobers slowly, frowning slightly, deciding to breach their history.

„Why did you push me off the train Chiyo? And why did you shoot me? If your plan was to cage him why not let fate run its course?“

She hesitates, her voice low.

„Some beasts should not be caged.“

Will shifts his weights, sensing the evasion, letting the antlers grow to see past her form.

„You caught up with him in Florence, the time to do this bought by your pushing me off.“

He licks his lips, eyes narrowing, his right hand sweeping out, indicating the situation they are in now.

„Why did you shoot me, Chiyo?“

She stares at him, unblinking, her mouth forming the words, almost inaudible.

„When I caught up with him, you were the only thing on his mind. He never asked how I got to be there, not then. I realized he loved you like…“

She trails off and Will swallows, voice raw.

„Who did he kill that you loved, Chiyo?“

She blinks slowly, regarding him for a long moment before she continues, voice clear and firm suddenly.

„The first one to touch my heart, to touch my body. He considered him a distraction from my task. He served him as Hamachi Nigiri to Lady Murasaki.“

Will swallows, pressing his lips together, a myriad of emotions swirling through him, with true fury strangely absent. He sighs, rubbing his brow, just stating facts.

„Which is why you waited until I had pulled the knife out to shoot me, so it would enrage him and force his hand.“

Chiyo inclines her head, her voice calm.

„I wished him to suffer as I had suffered.“

Will drops his hand, feeling emotionally exhausted suddenly.

„It still is your intention, isn’t it? You brought us both here, caged in silver and iron in order to force his hand, make him kill me in a fit of … what. Jealousy?“

He shakes his head, confusion clearly on his face, trying to make out what he is missing.

„Only it makes no sense. Why honor my request and bring me the dogs on top? Why nurse me back to health?“

She sighs quietly, her hand twitching in her lap.

„It was my intention. But…“

Will tilts his head, voice raw.

„What.“

She exhales and levels him with her dark gaze, brutally open.

„He is changed. He would not survive your death and suffer. I had not believed it possible.“

Will swallows harshly, his stomach dropping out. He blinks rapidly, glad to be able to hold onto Winston and Buster, whispering.

„And now? What is your intention now?“

She is silent for a long time, watching the dark embers. Her voice sound faraway when she speaks finally, echoing between them.

„Seeing your wife has cleared my intentions towards you. I saw an echo of your time with her, the pain of the decisions you try so hard to mask, the loss you experience.“

She hesitates, returning her gaze to Will, feeling flayed open beneath its weight.

„You will be each others jailor now. He is your charge, Will Graham. You will heal and hurt each other, eternally, more punishment and reward than I can possibly hope to achieve by any action I take.“

Will smiles, harshly, brittle, feeling the weight of the words in his bones.

„We are conjoined.“

Chiyo blinks, once.

„Yes.“

Will closes his eyes, the tears falling down his face. He opens them again, his voice wounded.

„Will you stay with us?“

Chiyo tilts her head, a soft shrug lifting her shoulders, weirdly otherworldly.

„For now. Maybe we can resolve some ghosts of our past.“

Will presses his lips together for a moment.

„Yeah. Maybe.“

They fall silent then, comfortable and emotionally exhausted, the world in dark embers until the gray morning light signals the new day.

Will bends down and pets Winston and Buster when it does, before he drags himself upstairs and slips into bed next to Hannibal, just holding, watching the first sun-rays touch his destiny.


	17. Wounds, healing and raw, still

******

We've been each other's prisoner for a very long time. (Chiyo)

******

 

Blood, Will decides in a bout of disgruntled spite, is much more fun to play with when not dried on the floor. He sighs, pushing up to sit on his heels, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, watery red dripping from the bristle-brush onto his already utterly soiled sweat pants. 

Chiyo had given him the brush and bucket with lukewarm water and some kind of detergent, wordlessly, after breakfast, taking the dogs out with her for a run. Will tilts his head both ways, listening to the cracking in his neck. He narrows his eyes, hearing Hannibal move around in the kitchen, the wheels of the wheelchair squeaking slightly. Hannibal had insisted on Will cleaning the chair first, ostensibly so he could prepare the feast to top all feasts. Or something similar. Will sighs again and rolls his shoulders, the wound in his right shoulder protesting for a moment, but not as much as it used to, at least something.

He bends forward again, his left shoulder already aching with the strain of holding this position. He scratches at a rather insistent spot, slightly differently colored, blushing deeply when he suddenly realizes why, furiously glad no-one is there to see him. He scratches on, breaking off red flakes around the spot, and sighs again, knowing he has to go and change the water. Again. 

He heaves himself up and takes the bucket into the garage, using the drain there to pour the reddish water out, before refilling it, his mind curiously quiet.   
He returns to the hallway, surveying his handiwork before looking at the clock on the wall, estimating another half hour for the rest of it. He sighs deeply and returns to the floor, knowing he still has to wipe everything down with bleach afterwards, delete the traces of DNA. 

When he finally stumbles into the shower almost two hours later he is exhausted again, his knees and shoulders and hands hurting, red rivulets of water swirling away from him. He bends his head into the spray of water, enjoying the heat and the relaxation of his muscles. He shifts his hips, smirking when he feels the dull ache within, courtesy of the swift preparation he insisted on. He shifts again, letting the feeling segue into a vague anticipation, his mind running away with his imagination for a long moment. He turns the water ice cold afterwards, shaking his head at himself, feeling weirdly carefree. 

He pads over into their shared bedroom, frowning when he sees the dress pants there and the white shirt, his eyes narrowing. He contemplates the clothes for a long moment, and then decides to honor the unspoken request, unsurprised when the clothes fit perfectly. He goes back into the bathroom and looks at himself for a long moment, a slightly thinner, not quite as bearded echo of the night on the cliff greeting him. He takes the brush and brushes his hair out, the curls springing back, quite grown out now. There is a knock on the door and Will opens it to find Chiyo on the other side, looking slightly impatient in her sweated through running clothes. Will shrugs and grin at her, mouthing a ‚sorry‘, realizing he has hogged the bathroom for over an hour now.

He steps past her, hesitating, regarding her openly.

„Thank you for taking them out.“

Chiyo inclines her head, her voice quiet and kind.

„They are true companions. It was my pleasure.“

She steps in and closes the bathroom door and Will looks at the door for a long moment, wondering at how the mechanisms of fate work sometimes. He whistles through his teeth, heart beating hard, once, when the clacking of claws and two sets of paws running up the stairs can be heard. Will bends down and cuddles them for a long time, uncaring of his clothes, priorities firmly in place. He goes into their bedroom afterwards, brushing off the hairs perfunctory before he takes them downstairs again, checking every corner when he crosses the hallway, relieved when he doesn’t find anything he’d missed.

He enters the kitchen quietly, the smell divine, oven and hearth set and steaming slightly, frowning when he does not see Hannibal around. He starts when he sees the wheelchair in front of the fireplace, empty, rushing over only to find the seat cold already, his mind jumping into frantic overdrive. There is a sensation at his back and he whirls around, lashing out instinctually, managing to jab Hannibal into his throat with his fist, Wills instant exclamation ringing in the air between them.

„Fuck, Hannibal.“

Hannibal coughs, holding his throat for a moment, his words wheezing out of him.

„Maybe later, mylimasis. Language though, dear.“

Will closes his eyes for a moment with a groan, the bad conscience evaporating instantly with slight annoyance, gesturing wildly at the wheelchair, his eyes flashing.

„What are you doing up? I thought you could not stand and control the movement in your legs due to the swelling?“

Hannibal smirks at him, eyes sparkling, a slightly lewd expression on his face.

„Ah. Did you know, love, that sometimes a shift of bone and cartilage can work wonders? I felt the feeling return this night, and I have been practicing the necessary motions since you started cleaning.“

Will smiles widely at him, his teeth flashing, eyes sparkling, segueing into a slightly suspicious frown.

„A shift?“

Hannibal steps forward carefully, his right hand hovering over the edge of the sofa, ready to hold onto, still slightly wobbly on his feet. He smirks, bending towards Will and Will realizes with a start that he wears something very similar to the clothes he wore that night. He refocuses his attention back onto Hannibal when he speaks, Hannibals voice rumbling with amused inflection.

„Yes. Apparently everything shifted into place with some jarring, repetitive motions yesterday evening. Fortunately, really.“

Will gapes at him for a moment and then starts to chuckle, deeply, grinning wildly.

„Oh, you mean to tell me that fucking me has healed you…“

He starts snickering, his hands coming up to caress the collarbones through the sweater Hannibal wears, sobering up slowly when Hannibal only smiles at him, very softly, his hands coming to rest on Wills waist. He swallows, tone still decidedly amused.

„Well, I’m glad. I hate being on top all the time.“

Hannibal stills for a moment and then the fingers dig in, tickling mercilessly and Will squirms, trying to get away but only manages to get closer and the moment their bodies connect the atmosphere shifts, harshly, the hands clenching Wills shirt bruising suddenly, digging into the muscles there. Will raises his chin a bit, feeling Hannibals breath, hot on his lips, arousal shuddering through him, pressing against him in answering excitement. He licks his lips, whispering, carefully inquiring.

„We should probably let that bone and cartilage settle…?“

Hannibal snarls slightly, his voice rough.

„I will gladly risk it.“

Will swallows, jerking when the door to the kitchen opens, driving home the fact that they are not alone. He turns his head with an effort, smiling at Chiyo who steps close without any inflection, blinking, once.

„Can I help with the dinner preparations, Hannibal?

Hannibals fingers clench for a moment before he releases Will, his smile genial though a bit strained.

„Of course, Chiyo. Please set the table. Will can decant the wine.“

Will steps back and turns away from them both, adjusting himself slightly before turning again to retrieve the wine, watching the other two move in unison for a moment, testament to the time they spent in one another’s orbits a long time ago. He purses his lips, tilting his head, deciding to grab that particular bull by its horns, settling in one of the chairs, deciding to take a sip of the wine already.

„Tell me of your time in each others company.“

Chiyo hesitates for a half second, before she resumes setting the plates, carefully stepping around Will.

„I have told you some of it already on our way to Italy.“

Will hums, taking another sip.

„Incense and cubs, I remember. Did you converse in Japanese?“

Hannibals voice rings out, carefully stirring a sauce.

„At times. My uncle preferred Lithuanian, his Japanese not as proficient as ours.“

Will nods, pasting a smile onto his lips.

„Did you start cooking then?“

Will can feel Chiyo pause behind him, warily eyeing him when she puts down the cutlery. Hannibal only smirks, slightly crookedly, keeping his eyes averted. He shrugs after long moment, his dark eyes leveling Will with a heavy and unfathomable gaze and Will shivers, feeling the effect keenly.

„One has to start somewhere.“

Will nods, taking another sip, feeling secure enough to prod some more.

„You… halted Chiyos development for almost three decades, after. What have you envisioned for her becoming?“

Hannibal purses his lips, his bangs falling over his eyes, obscuring them from view. He clicks his tongue, the corner of his eyes crinkling slightly.

„I was curious if she would be able to free herself.“

Will narrows his eyes.

„By killing you.“

Hannibal smirks, his eyes seeking out Chiyo, quietly smoothing down the wrinkles in the napkins. 

„Yes. Only Chiyo took a different path, choosing to try for me to kill you.“

Chiyo inclines her head a fraction, her voice reflecting curiosity.

„Do you concede to my judgement?“

Hannibals eyes flicker over to Will for a moment and Wills fingers clench on the glass, hard enough to hurt, the scar on his forehead throbbing for a moment. Hannibal averts his gaze again, fingers tracing along the edge of the counter.

„If I had eaten his brain, your judgement would have been sublime in ferocity, condemning me to hell on earth, for approximately the time I have condemned you to the same.“

Will closes his eyes in the sudden quiet, and he downs the rest of his wine, an idea shaping itself out slowly. He licks his lips, watching them watch him, his smirk wry.

„Ok, let’s eat? I’ll provide the meat tomorrow.“


	18. Blue dinner

******

„How’s the wife?“ (Hannibal)

******

 

Will watches in an almost detached, almost drunk state as Hannibal serves the soup, quietly observed by Chiyo across the table as well, the atmosphere slightly…. tense since his prodding. Will works his jaw a moment and twirls the red wine around in his glass, knowing it annoys Hannibal, if the slight twitch at his left eye is anything to go by. He clicks his tongue, quietly musing.

„Ahh, what a situation…. If you kill me he would kill you, if you kill him I would kill you, if I kill you he would …“

Will narrows his eyes, grinning harshly, tilting his head so he can look at Hannibal, passing behind him.

„Yes, what -would- you do, Hannibal?“

Hannibal blinks at him, a slight tilt to his head before he steps over and seats himself at the head of the table, his voice slightly reluctant.

„I do not know, I must confess.“

He pauses, reaching for his own wine glass, looking over at Chiyo for a moment.

„She is family, after all.“

Hannibal takes a sip, shaking his head slowly.

„So are you, and so much more, now.“

Will leans forward and puts the glass down, picking up his spoon, the pumpkin spice soup smelling divine. He takes a spoonful, the taste melting on his tongue, warming him from within.

„We are… I’m curious though, Hannibal, what we’ll be once we’re actually out and about. What are your plans for your … current family?“

Chiyo starts eating carefully, and Will grins at her, unseen, knowing she wants to deflect her intense curiosity at his question, her eyes trained fixedly at the tablecloth. He looks back at Hannibal when he hears the quiet exhale, smirking when he perceives the small signs of frustration, triggered by too deep a look.  
He clicks his tongue, deciding to trip them both up even more, feeling a slightly vicious glee, decidedly -not- echoed in his tone.

„Chiyo likes Molly.“

There is a clank as Chiyos spoon drops into the soup, unheeded, a small splatter of soup landing close to Wills plate. He raises his eyes to hers, deadly serious suddenly, his voice deceptively soft.

„You did not bring the dogs back for me. You took them away for her.“

He hesitates, his fingers tracing the edge of the napkin for a moment, making his voice even softer.

„I sneaked a peak into your notebook. You have written way too many observations and thoughts for a … business visit.“

He purses his lips, watching her huge black eyes with a slightly tilted head, his neck prickling, Hannibal eerily quiet between them.

„It reminds you of home, does it not? A fire in the wilderness, practicality and duty, the duty to carry on her life, the life I left her with, uncaring whether she might want it.“

He pauses, closing his eyes for a long moment, his eyebrows rising before he continues, his eyes drifting open again.

„Only she amends it with kindness and a sort of stubborn defensiveness, does she not? It is something you admire and wished you would have been able to employ for your own life.“

Will grins for a moment, his eyes wandering a bit, watching Chiyo clench her hand on the table cloth.

„You share the no-bullshit approach, a trait that managed to put you at ease, didn’t it.“

He can hear her throat click, warmly impressed when she actually answers.

„It felt like home, being there, yes.“

The warmth shines in his smirk this time, not even trying to tease her.

„I’m glad.“

He purses his lips again, taking another sip of wine, feeling decidedly buzzed by now.

„Why didn’t you leave when you saw that Hannibal is well enough to walk again? You had already seen that he was changed, had already decided you would punish us with each other… why did you stay?“

Chiyo raises her eyes very slowly, a skittish look in them and Will frowns, not quite getting it. She presses her lips together for a moment, the words almost inaudible, her eyes flickering to Hannibal for a moment.

„She is -your- wife, still.“

There is the scratching of Hannibals chair as he gets up, seemingly to refill his plate and Will closes his eyes in annoyance, more at himself than anyone else.  
He shakes his head and forces the words, surprised at himself when they hurt.

„And you want my… what. Blessing?“

Chiyo blinks at him, exhaling slowly when Hannibal wanders over and removes their soups, now cold anyway. She inclines her head and her hands twitch on the tablecloth, in an aborted nervous gesture.

„I would like to return there, yes.“

Will huffs a laugh, feeling like he’s something missing, his mind racing.

„Well, then, you -officially- have my blessing. Of course it’s Molly and she will have her own mind about this, so …“

He shrugs, a bit bewildered, feeling increasingly uneasy.

Hannibal walks over and puts the main course in front of Chiyo, decidedly business like. Will licks his lips, his left hand fingers tapping the cloth. He watches as Hannibal returns, carrying both their plates, his face a mask. Hannibal puts both plates down and bends slightly to sit down and Will grasps his wrist, brows furrowing.

„You don’t think I would go back to her, when we leave here, after we both have healed, do you?“

There is a small hesitation and then Hannibal straightens and Will drops his hand, feeling flabbergasted, his voice flat with astonishment.

„You can’t be serious, Hannibal.“

Hannibal sighs through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment before he reaches over and pushes a stray lock from his forehead. He locks gazes with Will, the red burning. His voice is raw and vicious, blazing with feeling.

„You are still wearing her ring, Will.“

Hannibal traces his jaw gently and then turns around, leaving the room silently.  
Will watches the door for a long moment and then takes his cutlery out of spite, picking at his food, decidedly not hungry. Chiyo watches him for a moment and then leaves as well, the candles flickering in the small draft. Will reaches for his glass, the wine burning down his throat. 

Blue, he thinks, it feels like being blue, a fucking blue dinner.


	19. Redemption

******

No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true. I love you, Will. (Hannibal)

******

 

It feels like a walk of shame. Ok, Will amends silently, it -is- a walk of shame.   
Not -that- shame though. Probably not yet. He snickers and then sighs, his vision wavering slightly, trying to ground himself by poking at the scar in his cheek with his tongue, because apparently gripping the banister does not help. He sinks down onto the first step with a huff, watching the thick chain in front of the shot open lock of the front door come in and out of focus, dark grey in the dim lighting, streaming in from the window at the other side of the hallway. 

He looks at the chain for a long moment and then pushes himself up again, deciding to go all in, stumbling the stairway up and into Hannibals room, the door rebounding from where it crashes into the wall when he stumbles into it. He inhales and then kicks it shut, almost loosing his balance in the process. He licks his lips and then tries to properly form the words, knowing-of-fucking course that Hannibal is wide awake where he sits in an armchair by the window, unmoving.

„Did’ya know…“

He pauses and tries again, feeling way too peeved to let it lie.

„Did -you- know, that… I haven’t seen one Grizzly since we’ve been dragged here?“

He chuckles, watching the shadow on the other side of the room incline its head a fraction.

„Except the Grizzly grumbling to himself that is…“

There is a second of nothing and then a rush of motion and Will smiles wide, even as his head impacts with the door, pain exploding behind his eyes. Hannibals right hand squeezes tightly, nails biting, holding Will up to the door with his hand, his face a mask of fury, voice toneless.

„I assure you, beloved, it would be wise not to further entice me.“

Will chuckles, a bit wheezing because his airway is obstructed, the sound only resulting in more obstruction. He snarls quietly, keeping his hands down, letting his weight drop against Hannibals hand. Knowing he would be able to break the hold if need be, with Hannibal not quite on top health wise. But. No need to make this easy. He licks his lips, his voice sardonic.

„Wanna gnaw my ring finger off?“

Hannibal is silent and Will snickers, harshly, his voice vicious.

„I bet you thought about it.“

He closes his eyes for a moment, the darkness behind them spinning. He opens them again after a moment, refocussing with an effort, his voice hard.

„I want you to fuck me against this door.“

He pauses, feeling the effect his deliberately crass words have on Hannibal against his hip. He continues, slowly, accentuating each word carefully, watching Hannibals eyes bore into his own, huge and black.

„You will exorcise whatever doubt you may feel about me. You will claim me as you see fit and then you will never doubt me again. Is that clear.“

Hannibal blinks once and then comes even closer, his tone very low and very sharp.

„You are giving me permission to do as I wish.“

Will swallows, mouth dry, his heart skipping a beat.

„For tonight, yes.“

He pauses, watching as Hannibals eyes grow impossible darker, pitch black in the gloom of the room now. He whispers, keeping their eyes locked.

„Just one question…. why did you want me to wear this suit?“

Hannibal tilts his head slightly, blinking once, his voice somewhat haltingly.

„I wished to conjure our last date… and continue it.“

Will smirks, shifting slightly so one of Hannibals legs slots between his, letting the gentle amusement color his tone.

„You considered our time on top of the cliff a date?“

Hannibal bends towards him, his voice a rumble between them.

„I consider every meeting of ours a date.“

He silences any retort Will might have had by pressing his lips to Wills and Will lets his head fall back with a thud, the sound echoing through the room, his breath eaten and mouth devoured by Hannibal. He opens his mouth wide and groans deeply before entering the dance, surprised when Hannibal grabs his hands with his left and keeps them from locking around his neck, growling a warning into Wills mouth. Will relaxes his arms and Hannibal drops his wrists, thrusting his tongue deep. Will moans and then the world spins as Hannibal wrenches his mouth away and turns Will around in one swift motion, pressing him to the door by his shoulder and Hannibal leans forward, his lips grazing Wills neck, voice deceptively soft.

„Stay like this, mylimasis.“

Will exhales a shuddering breath, his right cheek squashed against the door, his eyes unfocused on the wall beyond. He raises his arms and rests his right hand on the door knob and his left against the door in front of his chest, following the motion down when Hannibal pulls at is hips, and then bends, carefully removing Wills shoes and then pushing Wills feet apart inch by inch. It is such a strange intimate and yet brutally lewd action, unmistakable in intent and yet careful in execution, a brilliant example of the dichotomy of their relationship.

Hannibal rises behind him and then reaches forward to undo his belt and trousers and Will closes his eyes, resigning himself to bear the retribution, nonetheless aroused beyond measure and he wonders for a moment if it is the alcohol or the mixture of their natures that has him so aroused. The thought drifts away when Hannibal pushes the trousers off with his boxers, carefully, leaving him standing there for long moments, the rustling informing Will that he is folding the clothes away. Will swallows his amusement at the behavior pattern down, the amusement evaporating when Hannibal returns and lowers himself to his knees behind Will instantly, gripping his thighs, the wet hot heat of his tongue taking all thought.

Will groans harshly and the grits his teeth, trying hard not to move, Hannibal obviously going for a no nonsense approach, spearing as deep as he can go, and Will can feel himself get close within minutes, with every almost touch right there, in staccato licks, deep and hot and everything, making him shake with the build up. He can feel the pleasure gathering and he gasps, needing to move, hitting the door once, and Hannibal is gone, leaving behind cold emptiness and feverish arousal, beckoning him to fall. Hannibal returns after a moment and something cold and hard is pushed around Wills cock, and then the pressure increases and Will screams a low scream through his teeth, his orgasm receding just out of reach, just on this side of painful. Will chances a look down and then cackles, harshly, throwing a dark look over his shoulder.

„A cock ring, really…. When did you get that toy, pray tell…“

Hannibal bends close, biting softly into Wills clothed shoulder, words muffled.

„I made it from several of the leftover infusion tubes. Which is why I had to pull it tight.“

Will snorts, feeling light headed and yet more in control again.

„You planned this?“

Hannibal chuckles behind him and then a finger pushes in, pressing down until Will gasps and bends his back, seeing stars, Hannibals voice reaching him as if from far away.

„Planned? No, but I had wished to do this to you, at some point. How fortunate that you have given me permission.“

Will rolls his eyes under closed lids, gasping when Hannibal withdraws his finger. He licks his lips, voice raw already.

„And now, what now.“

Hannibal hums, his hands tracing down Wills flanks, playing with the shirt tails. He trails his fingertips over Wills tailbone and Will shivers with the ticklish touch.

„I have not had the pleasure to explore your responses yet, beloved. I will do so at my leisure now, I think.“

Will gasps a laugh and then presses his forehead to the wood, a harsh smile playing on his lips. 

„Not fucking me against the door after all then…“

Hannibal chuckles behind him, his hands pushing up Wills bare back, under the shirt, nails scratching softly.

„Ah, mylimasis, you have given me permission for tonight… we have some time yet.“

He bends forward, his breath tickling in Wills neck.

„For everything that strikes my fancy.“

Will jerks and gasps, the words rumbling through him in a wave of helpless arousal, suddenly quite glad for Hannibals little helper and he snorts in amused admission, shaking his head, feeling Hannibals hands reach forward and squeeze his pectorals for a moment before traveling back and up to his shoulder blades. Will shifts slightly, lowering his head to the door again, sighing quietly in pleasure when Hannibal starts massaging his shoulders.

„Wouldn’t it be better if we would take the shirt off and relocated to the bed?“

Hannibal digs his thumbs in, making Will exhale shudderingly, his voice dreamlike.

„Now, this is supposed to be an exorcising, is it not? I believe it only prudent that you should wear the color of the innocents while being debauched, forced to hold up my weight.“

Will closes his eyes, another shudder of arousal running through him, and he licks his lips, huffing a gruff laugh.

„If you keep on talking like that Hannibal, not even that toy is going to help…“

Hannibal chuckles with him, his fingers gliding down again, tracing down his thighs and back up, just skimming, no pressure. He pushes back under the shirt and then around to the front, careful not to touch Wills cock, starting to gently trace every rib and every indent, digging into the dips just short of painful. He kneads the muscles, paying extra attention to Wills nipples, trying the out Wills responses, until Will is a quivering mess, sweating and gasping just through this alone. Hannibal withdraws his hands slowly, retreating fully from Will, the shirt clinging to his form now, transparent in some places.

Hannibal opens the door a bit and Will moves with it, confused and then Hannibal smirks and crosses the floor to the bathroom and Will stands there, just a bit annoyed, shaking his head at himself. He swallows, feeling the room spin to a halt again. Obviously pretty drunk, still, then. He sighs, shivering a bit, starting when he feels Hannibal return to the room, his presence arriving before his physical form somehow. Hannibal bends forward and presses a kiss to his temple and Will smells the toothpaste, suddenly yearning for a kiss but Hannibal withdraws when he turns his head and Will lets it drop against the door again, swallowing the need down. Hannibal hums, and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, voice very quiet.

„Later, beloved.“

More rustling and Will realizes Hannibal undresses and his heart rate kicks up speed, giddily glad and idiotically disappointed when he hears the lube being uncapped, hearing Hannibal return. He expects the fingers and starts when Hannibal grips his hips softly, lining up, just holding. There is a minute increase in pressure, nothing painful and Will moans, knowing suddenly, his hands clenching. He wills himself to relax, the pressure just there, just -not- enough, every millimeter inching the need higher, his whole being focused on that point of sensation, gasping harshly. 

„Please.“

Hannibal hums and then increases the pressure the slightest bit, and Will mewls, finally feeling himself stretch, almost there, almost there. Hannibals hands tighten even more, denying any movement, his voice breathless and yet controlled, carefully deep.

„Easy beloved. Take me into yourself. This is what you wanted, is it not? For me to claim you? However…“

Hannibal pauses and Will takes wild satisfaction in the fact that he has to, his own thoughts beyond sluggish.

„However, for me to claim you, you have to let me claim you. And not…“

Another pause and Will shudders, a tear dropping down his cheek.

„Not in vigorous sex or painful claiming but by giving it up, slowly, carefully, just you, just me, nothing between us, sealing our bond with tenderness.“

Will sobs, once, his ‚fuck‘ hidden in a gasp, his chest hurting. He opens his eyes, unseeing, feeling the recognition of this truth run through him, burning with emotion. Another tear falls and he pulls his right hand under his chest as well, propped against the door with his right shoulder now, the barely healed wound there throbbing with every heartbeat, grounding him. He grips the ring with his right hand fingers, the metal seeming burning and then he pulls it off with a snarl, throwing it to the ground. 

The heavy clunk of the gold hitting the wood is met by his deep exhale, his body almost collapsing with a relief he did not know he needed, and Hannibal glides a bit deeper, slowly and Will sobs, hard. Hannibal leans forward and Will groans with the pain the additional weight elicits in his shoulder, a craved counterpoint to the almost brutal tenderness. Hannibal noses in his neck and then starts to press little kisses there, lips gliding, withholding the pain of sharp teeth that Will craves. Gravity pulls Hannibal deeper, slowly bottoming out and he locks his arms around Wills upper torso, softly stroking as he tries to pull in breaths between sobbing moans, the tears falling unheeded. Hannibal exhales shakingly against his nape, voice muffled, breath hot against Wills skin.

„You were so ready to give yourself up to the beast, mylimasis, you forgot the man.“

A kiss to the side of his neck, sending shivers down.

„Or, better yet, you did not forget, but refused to accept the antithesis of her, locked away the part you gave her.“

Hannibals teeth graze Wills neck, eliciting a shudder.

„But I would have all of you, Will, or nothing at all.“

Hannibal tightens his arms, almost preventing breath, starting a soft rolling motion, his lips staying on the same spot in Wills neck, burning. Will gasps for breath and then Hannibal pushes just there and the pleasure is so agonizing beautiful that Will spaces out, falling into a meditative almost bliss, his being focusing on the places where Hannibal touches him, the moment when Hannibal comes in him spreading warmth everywhere, his soul shuddering with the implications. Hannibal stays where he is, laid out on Will, making him carry his weight, in him, until he softens, slowly withdrawing but pulling Will with him, staggering over to the bed together.

Hannibal pushes Will down on his back and arranges his limbs and Will just lets it happen, his body hurting from the strain, emotionally exhausted, unbearably aroused still, feeling used and loved and desired in equal measure, wanting and needing more. 

Hannibal smiles almost sadly at him and then bends down to kiss him, the kiss deep and base and everything and Will receives it as the blessing it is, almost floating with sensation, Hannibals hands on his body gliding and caressing. Hannibal breaks the kiss after a moment, his lips tugging softly at Wills, voice low.

„Will you leave when the night is out, Will, or will you accept all of me?“

Will closes his eyes for a moment, knowing the answer and feeling the freedom it brings, blood and breath and pleasure, accepted before, yes, but kept separately, his old life never to be mixed with it. He licks his lips, trying to form the words, needing to clear his throat.

„I never could separate the man from the beast, that is why I could never resist you.“

He nods once, frowning, his expression sad.

„You’re right, I accepted when I thought there was no choice but I kept some part of me away…“

He raises his arms, his hands dragging through Hannibals hair, softly. His eyes flit to the ring on the ground, hesitating for a moment, his voice shaking when he continues.

„Guess you were a pretty good psychiatrist after all.“

Hannibal freezes over him, his eyes flashing, tone flat.

„Were?“

Will closes his eyes for a moment, smiling a bit, his fingers caressing Hannibals jaw now, the words shaping themselves, finally true.

„You have my permission for every night, now, Hannibal.“

Hannibal searches his eyes for a long moment and then presses a kiss to Wills forehead, his lips shaking and Will closes his eyes with the benediction, reality shifting. Hannibal withdraws after a moment and crawls down his body and the wet heat engulfs Will, the tug as Hannibal frees him making him arch up, the world exploding in blackish red and brilliant white, sealing them together.


	20. Bound and released

******

You haven't flown away. (Chiyo)

******

 

She feeds the dogs in the gray of the morning, watching them devour the self made dog food, happily letting themselves be petted by her. 

She quietly goes up to their room after, stealing into the room like a ghost. She retrieves the little item, rolling it in her palm for a moment, watched intently by the beast, now effectively chained to the prison he will take with him wherever he will go, sleeping soundly beside him. She nods at him, once, before she leaves them there, their relationship stable enough now to serve as a binding force, this house sufficient to cater to their needs, for a while. 

She takes the dogs for a walk as the sun raises, pressing her palm into the fresh imprints of paws in the mud, her hand superimposing the claws marks, deceptively small. She prepares coffee when she returns, watching the dogs settle on the rug in front of the fire, dozing happily.

She takes a travel mug and retrieves her luggage, loading the car efficiently. It takes her away from the house almost silently, the tires crunching over the snow and gravel. She looks into the rear mirror for a moment, the sun glinting off the windows like gold. Her gaze returns to the street, the world opening before her.

*****

It’s late when she reaches the cabin, the windows dark and silent. She walks up to the door and then sits down on the steps leading up to the veranda, watching the stars. Molly joins her with a mug of coffee close to dawn, offering it to her silently, waiting a long time to speak.

„I wondered if I would ever see you again.“

Chiyo inclines her head, her voice very quiet.

„Does my presence please you?“

Molly huffs a laugh, shrugging, pulling her cardigan closer around her shoulders.

„I’m not sure…“

She takes a sip, shooting a sideways look at Chiyo.

„Why are you here?“

Chiyo looks at the fading stars for a long time, an almost smile on her lips, her words echoing the truth she feels. 

„You offer peace.“

Molly snorts and Chiyo smiles, before sobering, retrieving the item from her breast pocket. She holds it out in her closed fist, waits until Molly opens her palm under it, the golden ring dropping into it, heavily. Molly sniffs and rolls it around in her palm for a long moment, before sighing. She raises her arm and flings it out, the ring arching through the air, disappearing somewhere in the foliage. Molly exhales deeply, closing her eyes for a long moment. When she opens them again she takes off her own ring and throws it in the general direction of before as well, smirking wryly to herself. She shoots another look at Chiyo and shakes her head, snorting softly. 

 

They watch the sun until Wally yells for his mom and the moment is broken and Molly gets up, waiting quietly at the door until Chiyo follows her, the door closing softly behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******
> 
>  
> 
> AND that was that!  
> Didn't go where I thought it would go but I like it! :)
> 
> I'll go back to batch-writing quasi-standalones now though, because as fun as this was, it's not the way I write^^.  
> But, was a good experiment, because now I -know- *g*.
> 
> Please let me know how you liked it!  
> Comments and Kudos feed my muse!
> 
> *hugs*


	21. Fanart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got this beautiful, incredible fanart (hand drawn with a pen!!) from @RocioRuizArt (Twitter) when we met up at #RDC3. 
> 
> I deliberately show this as a 'simple' photo because this is 'just on the plane' and I am in AWE still and have hung it on my wall, next to the signed ad. 
> 
> So incredibly fitting for this story, imho.
> 
> Thank you. Again.


End file.
